


Dead in the Water

by aliciaclarkes



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Clarke Griffin, Car Accidents, Clexa, Eventual Smut, F/F, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lawyer Lexa, Short term memory loss, Slow Burn, clarke and lexa are dating, clarke loses her memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-08-03 02:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16317380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciaclarkes/pseuds/aliciaclarkes
Summary: "As Lexa fell to her knees with an aching hole in her chest where her heart shattered into pieces, she looked up just in time to see a mass of tangled blonde hair, painted with deep red brushstrokes and sculpted over pale blue skin. Clarke’s head rested against the steering wheel, unmoving and marbled, a tragic statue in a museum of Lexa’s worse fears.Lexa screamed her name through the dark like it was the only sweet thing she could taste against her lips."Clarke was in a car crash that should have taken her life, but took her memories instead, memories of her life and love with Lexa. With a tense relationship to mend and the struggle of trying to recover lost years, Lexa decides to start fresh, using the accident as a way to right her wrongs; using it as a way to make Clarke fall back in love with her.





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm finally back with that AU I wanted to do. As always, let me know what you think about this chapter.  
> Find me on tumblr for any updates and questions you might have.
> 
> Tumblr: aliciaclarkes

The cool, New York City rain was heavy against the living room windows, a gentle tapping against glass as it begged to come into the warmth of the home. The sky was overcast, though no one would ever know as the sun was stolen from the sky hours earlier, a visceral reminder of impending winter. It just made the fuzzy pink socks on Lexa’s feet even more comforting. 

The paperwork seemed like it would never end, piles of it scattered around her like a chaotic hurricane, some with scribbled notes and dog ears while others have yet to be touched. Lexa huffed to herself as her left eye twitched for the fifth time in twenty minutes. The stress was taking a toll on her, but she was a powerhouse that couldn’t be stopped. She couldn’t afford to stop. 

Her and Anya were on track to open a new law firm in just two short days, an exciting accomplishment for the sisters. However, in order to get the operation up and running as smoothly as they could manage, it required several late nights and many,  _ many _ cups of black coffee on Lexa’s end. She had always dreamed of opening her own firm, ever since finally,  _ finally _ passing the bar exam with flying colors. It was surreal that her dream was coming true right before her eyes. 

Lexa sat curled up on the couch, sweatpant-clad knees tucked underneath her lazily, her arms growing chilly in just the plain white tee shirt draped loosely around her frame. She debated moving, debated getting up and stretching her back - a movement that was long overdue, based on the branches of stiffness rooting its way between the notches of her spine - but couldn’t bear to leave her work. She finally felt like she was in the zone, her mind focused and alert; as alert as it could be at ten o’clock at night. Eventually, it was the goosebumps raising against the skin of her arms that urged her to take a break and grab something warmer. 

Lexa groaned quietly to herself, rubbing her eyes underneath her tortoise-shell glasses, running her fingers up the back of her head, feeling the baby hairs that had escaped from her loose bun. She set her papers down on the coffee table with a muffled thud, untangling her knees from the couch and setting her feet on the floor, wiggling her toes to get the blood flowing again. With arms up in the air and a sliver of her midsection exposed to the room around her, Lexa stretched, satisfied with the pops and cracks that ricocheted down her spine. They felt like the loudest sound in the world, and Lexa realized she hadn’t heard Clarke in quite a while. 

Curiosity got the better of her, pulling on her hand like a desperate child, beckoning her down the hallway to find her girlfriend. Lexa walked down the hall filled with candid photos of the two of them, interrupted every so often by papers screaming achievements: _ “Supreme Court of the state of New York” _ one read in old calligraphy, announcing her passing of the bar exam. Directly next to the sleek black frame holding her highest achievement sat a masters degree printed on off-white cardstock, sitting in an identical frame, reading  _ New York Academy of Art  _ with a scribbled  _ Clarke Griffin _ underneath. Lexa smiled at the girls sloppy signature, the way she always did when she walked down the hallway, bringing her slender fingers up to trace the loops and curves through the glass.

At the end of the hallway sat their bedroom, deep purple undertones bleeding into the warm yellow of the hall, calling for her to change into something warmer, or maybe to finally go to bed. As Lexa walked forward, intent on finding Clarke’s favorite, mossy green sweatshirt with paint stains galore, a white light from the study snatched her attention. Peering in, Lexa melted into the floorboards, a smile sketching its way to her lips. 

Clarke sat on an old wooden stool, the stool Lexa found at an antique shop on the outskirts of the city over a year ago. She had been so excited to bring it home, to gift it to Clarke for the makeshift studio the artist had crafted in their then empty study. Her blonde hair was tossed haphazardly into a bun, a pink tongue peeking out from between her lips as her focus was directed on the canvas in front of her. The room reeked of turpentine and the thick stench of expensive oils, making Lexa wiggle her nose discreetly. It was a scent that she didn’t particularly enjoy, but it reminded her of Clarke whenever she caught a whiff through closed doors when the blonde was out. 

Lexa leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched the scene in front of her unfold. If someone had told Lexa Woods six years ago that she would one day end up not only dating but  _ living in the same house _ as the girl she had a massive crush on through her first year of college - even though the blonde had no idea she existed - she would have called them crazy. Yet here they sat, almost two years and a thousand memories to show for their time together. It made Lexa’s heart swell. 

“I can see you, you know,” Clarke murmured in a soft voice, gaze never breaking from her newest piece. It was another commissioned work from a family friend, a happy distraction from the pieces meant to go in the gallery opening next year. Clarke had been working tirelessly night and day for months, her fingers housing paint more than her brushes did. 

Finishing art school and opening her own gallery had always been Clarke’s dream, and Lexa knew it. She was painfully aware of the lengths Clarke would go to achieve what she wanted, the girl more stubborn than anyone Lexa had ever met. Lexa also knew the toll of stress the gallery opening took on Clarke; she saw it in the bags under her cornflower eyes and in the shakiness of her fingers as she greedily drank her coffee in silence every morning before Lexa left for work. Refusing to bring it up, refusing to possibly upset the girl already in a fragile state, Lexa ignored it and threw herself into her own work to pass the time. 

“I know,” Lexa retorted, a soft chuckle in her throat. “How’s it coming in here?” Lexa asked, fingers itching to move into Clarke’s space, to touch and hold her, to feel the skin she hadn’t felt in months. Lexa would be outright lying if she said she didn’t miss feeling Clarke in her arms. She missed it more than anything else in the world. Their schedules just didn’t care. 

Clarke sighed and put down her brush, closing her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. Lexa felt bad for interrupting, but she craved to see Clarke in her element. However, standing in the doorway with more nerves in her stomach than she had on their first date, Lexa felt more like a kid who got caught with a hand in the cookie jar. What felt like a thin veil between them momentarily gave way to a construction crew building a brick wall as fast as they could with Lexa on her tiptoes, begging to see over. She cleared her throat. 

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. I might head to bed soon,” Lexa apologized, the  _ if you want to join me  _ implied, but unspoken. They both knew all too well that Clarke hadn’t slept in the same bed as Lexa in a little over a month. The king bed with a cold side made Lexa lonelier than ever when she got up for work every morning.

Clarke nodded, bringing her eyes to Lexa’s. They looked tired, bleak, unlike Clarke’s usually giddy self. It broke Lexa more than anything, but she knew Clarke didn’t want to hear it. They were both stressed and they both looked like shit, it would be no help if they pointed it out to each other. It might actually serve to be the last stone thrown at a glass house with how tense their relationship has been. It made Lexa shudder with sadness, a sadness she couldn’t control. 

“It’s okay, I’m almost finished.” Clarke brushed her off with a wave of her hand, looking back towards the canvas and getting up from the stool, stretching her legs before gathering her dirtied brushes in one hand. “You don’t have to wait up, you should get some rest,” Clarke said distractedly, not looking at Lexa as she spoke. The words felt like dull blades in Lexa’s heart, even though she knew Clarke’s comment wasn’t meant to be a backhanded one. It shocked her momentarily, feeling a bit of air leave her chest at the curtness of the blonde’s voice and her inability to look at Lexa while having a conversation, albeit one-sided. Lexa nodded softly before turning on her heel slowly, almost desperate to hear Clarke’s voice begging her to stay, asking if she wants to see her painting, laughing as she told the story about how the idea for it came to fruition. When those sounds never came, Lexa walked to their bedroom, nudging open the door with a shoulder before stepping inside. 

The silence of the room was deafening, Lexa’s ears ringing with quiet. Their room was starting to feel more like just hers the longer Clarke opted for the couch. It was  _ her _ clothes folded up in the armchair nestled snugly in the corner. It was  _ her _ laptop settled precariously on the edge of the bedside table,  _ her _ glasses thrown on top in a tired haste. Every time Lexa walked into the room that smelled less and less of Clarke every day, she was thrown back into her early college days, living alone in a cement-walled dorm room with a roommate that would rather sleep at her boyfriend’s place across town. 

Shaking the pain from behind her eyes that threatened to trigger tears, Lexa pulled open the closet door, fumbling around between different cocktail dresses and suits designated for work until she felt the soft fabric of Clarke’s faded sweatshirt between her fingertips. She clutched it firmly, ignoring the way her hands shook as she realized this was the only thing Clarke had hanging up; the rest of it was in the laundry room or on the floor of her studio. Lexa pulled the sweatshirt off the hanger, smiling at it pitifully before tugging it over her head. Clarke scent flooded her lungs, and she pulled in a deep breath, curling the collar up in her fist and pressing it against her nose. 

She couldn’t tell what she felt anymore. She felt hurt in the way of a chipped glass heart every time Clarke pulled away from her touch. She felt anger in the way of red behind her eyelids when Clarke brushed off her kiss before work every morning. She felt bitter in the way of shaking hands and tested sighs every time Clarke brushed off her artwork in favor of keeping the pieces private and locking the studio door. Their schedules made the air around them tense, and it had for a few months. The stress of opening a new firm was not lost on either of them, and combined with the opening of Clarke’s gallery sooner rather than later, everything felt charged. 

Lexa relished in the scent of her girlfriend that surrounded her for a while longer, the girl she had loved for years. That thought of love followed her as she walked back to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer, searching through scattered pairs of underwear and black lace bras - left abandoned, much like their sex life - to find a velvet box, physically light but mentally heavy. She turned it over and over in her fingers, feeling the diamond ring inside nearly burn a hole in her palm. Lexa’s throat felt like it was closing, swelling with unspoken sadness, so she put the box away, tucking it back underneath every item of clothing she could find. 

She remembered buying the ring. She had begged her old firm to work overtime, pleading with Anya to take  _ her _ clients as well with cases she didn’t usually bother with in order to afford it. Months of dust were collected in the simple fabric of the box, the ‘right time’ never seeming to come. Lexa felt herself dangling from a cliff by her fingernails as Clarke watched from the shore. 

There was a loud crash that came from the kitchen, Lexa snapping her chin towards the noise. Within seconds, a soft “dammit!” was yelped, breathless and grated with irritation. 

“Clarke?” Lexa asked, tugging up the sleeves of Clarke’s sweatshirt as she made her way to the kitchen, preparing herself for a mess and a very angry blonde. 

Rounding the corner at the end of the hall, leading back into the open floorplan that made room for a large kitchen and a quaint dining area, Lexa saw Clarke’s favorite mug in pieces on the hardwood floor. It’s previously soft lavender exterior was now hard to distinguish as it lay in shards at Clarke’s bare feet with the handle peeking out from underneath the fridge. 

“Baby, are you hurt?” Lexa’s voice was soft, dripping with concern as Clarke just stared at the mess at her feet with her fingers in her hair. She felt the pet name slip through her lips and she tensed at how suddenly  _ wrong _ it felt to say. 

“I’m fine, Lexa,” Clarke responded, the brunette’s name coming out sharp and jaded. It made Lexa flinch. 

“Well here, give me your hand,” Lexa offered, stretching her arm out towards Clarke to help her over the broken ceramic. She prayed that Clarke could make it over the mess safely so she could get to work cleaning it up, but Clarke refused to take her hand, stepping over the shards herself and walking towards the living room. Lexa pulled her hand away as if she were burned, pain radiating up her arm at the defeated blow she felt in her chest. 

“Why are you so angry with me?” Lexa asked softly, taking a deep breath before accepting the small amount of courage she was granted with her adrenaline. Clarke froze mid step, turning on her heel to face Lexa again. 

“What?” Clarke’s voice was jagged like lion’s teeth, snarling and waiting for the kill. Lexa felt the courage bloom in her chest like a flower finally seeing the sun. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other in weeks, and Lexa was determined to make that stop now. 

“I said why are you so angry with me? What have I done to you, Clarke?” Lexa huffed her frustration, noticing that she was talking with her hands again; she only did that when she was fired up about something, and she knew Clarke recognized it immediately, a matchstick lighting in her eyes. “I can’t...I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did,” Lexa muttered pitifully, lowering her gaze, hoping Clarke would come over to her, pull her into her arms, whisper that it was going to be okay. 

But the air around Lexa remained cold and her body remained untouched as Clarke stood, frozen in the living room, mouth slightly agape as she tried to form her thoughts as concisely as she could manage in the blinding rage she no doubt felt. Lexa bared her back and waited for the whip to lash her skin to ribbons. To be honest, it was overdue. 

“I’m not angry with you, Lexa. I’m...I’m frustrated.” Clarke’s voice raised, punctuating every word with a snarl. Without thinking, without letting Clarke speak, Lexa found her mouth opening and heard words tumbling out before she could dam the stream flowing from her throat. 

“What could you possibly be frustrated about, Clarke? You never talk to me, I never hear from you. For Christ’s sake, we haven’t even slept in the same bed in months!” 

The room grew so quiet Lexa swore she could hear the clock ticking from the neighbor’s house. Between bated breaths and grinding teeth, Lexa forced herself to lock eyes with Clarke, refusing to back down. She understood more than most the stress Clarke was going through, she saw it on her face everyday. Though with every waking minute, Lexa felt as though she had tried her hardest to make Clarke smile, to try and catch a shining glimpse of... _ something  _ in her eyes, but to no avail. It was grating and growing old, and her tongue decided to finally advocate for her heart. 

“We haven’t slept in the same bed because I’m always waiting for you to get home,” Clarke said flatly, her lips barely moving as she clenched her jaw so hard Lexa thought her teeth might grind into dust. Confusion hit her suddenly, but she held her tongue, wanting Clarke to finish and explain before she lashed out again. 

“Did you ever think about that, Lexa? Did you ever think that  _ you _ might be the problem too?” Clarke stepped closer to her, hands clenched into fists at her side with her eyes stoking a fire. Lexa swallowed, and with every step Clarke took forward, she mirrored it backwards until she felt her tailbone hit the kitchen island with a gentle thud. Her hands curled around the edge of the marble countertop, slipping at first before finding their place. 

“For months I have fallen asleep on that damn couch waiting for  _ you _ to get home.” Clarke pointed a shaking finger, jabbing Lexa in the chest as she sneered the ‘ _ you’ _ in her words. “Every night, you decide that your office is better than being here. You’re constantly staying late, constantly cancelling dinner plans. Did you ever stop to think that while you’re having wine with Anya at the office and forgetting to so much as call me, I might be sitting at home worried sick about you?” 

Guilt flooded Lexa’s bones like a riptide. It had truly never occurred to her that Clarke didn’t necessarily _ choose _ to sleep on the couch, but had fallen asleep while waiting for Lexa to come through the door and wake her up with a gentle kiss or soft words that never came. Instead, Lexa locked the door and kicked off her shoes as quietly as she could, going straight to bed without so much as a word to Clarke until morning. 

“I get it, I do,” Clarke’s voice brought Lexa back, pushing aside her apologies and focusing her attention on the fiery blonde standing in front of her. “I know that you have a lot going on with your new firm. I know it’s opening soon, and I know you have a lot to get done. But do you ever once just stop and consider that maybe you have a lot going on at home too?” Clarke crossed her arms over her chest protectively, almost as if she was trying to shield her heart from Lexa’s eyes. 

She felt frozen, like the words she wanted to say were stuck in her throat. She wanted to apologize, to pull Clarke into her arms and beg for forgiveness like she was at the gates of heaven, but her mouth felt like cotton and her heart was in her ears and it all became too much too fast. 

“No,” Clarke chuckled, a soft breath coming from her throat that made Lexa sick to her stomach. “Of course you don’t,” she added before turning on her heels and releasing Lexa from her stony gaze. Lexa watched as Clarke moved swiftly towards the door, pulling on her dirtied Chuck Taylors with holes on the side and paint on the laces. She watched as Clarke opened the closet in the entryway to grab her signature blue jacket with pockets overflowing with loose change that Lexa teased her about constantly. She watched as Clarke wrapped her hand around the set of car keys hanging on a hook by the door, the sound of jingling metal ripping Lexa from her marbled state. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, her voice choked as she realized what Clarke was planning. She was on her way out the door, and that scared Lexa more than anything else in this world. 

“I’m going for a drive. I-I can’t be here. Not now.” Clarke wrapped her hand around the door handle, swinging it open to let in a gust of cool air, rain droplets settling like diamonds against the scratchy fabric of the welcome mat. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Clarke added passively before walking out the door, slamming it behind her. 

She didn’t even glance in Lexa’s direction. 

Lexa felt the tears in her eyes white-knuckle her eyelids, begging to be let out. She ran her hand through her loose baby hairs, wrapping her fingers around the back of her neck and rubbing the base of her shoulders to distract herself from the utter emptiness she felt creeping down her spine. Without thinking, she reached into her pocket, pulling out her cell phone with shaking hands. She illuminated the screen, staring at the lockscreen of her and Clarke with cloudy vision. She hovered her thumb over the home button, prepared to unlock her screen, to open Clarke’s contact, to call the blonde and beg that she come home so they can talk everything out. Her brain - always logical, rarely feeling - reminded her that Clarke needed her space, and it would be wrong of her to not grant that. If Clarke wanted to leave, wanted to drive for a while, Lexa would let her without argument if that meant she could come home with a fresh mind and softer words. 

Lexa sighed, slipping her phone back into her pocket before walking towards the living room, pausing at the window. A flash of lightning was bright against the thin curtains pulled tight over the glass, and Lexa’s heart fluttered at the possibility of it being Clarke’s headlights in the driveway. Her hope faded as she heard the rolling thunder in the distance, and she turned her attention towards the couch that cushioned an open book and reading glasses; Clarke’s reading glasses. Looking at the cover of the book, Lexa recognized one of her favorite novels from a college english course she took, a book she slept through then but cherished now. 

The front had blue and yellow flowers, minimally drawn with swoopy lines stamping patterns across the cover. The title, in gold, read:  _ A Room with a View _ . She smiled to herself, picking up the book, keeping a finger steady at Clarke’s place while thumbing through the worn pages, trying to find her favorite quote. 

After much determination - and several failed attempts that brought excited gasps down to frustrated grumbles and more page turning - she found the quote that made her breathing steady again, opening a window in the smoky room in her heart. 

_ “Though nothing is damaged, everything changed.”  _

The painful parallel between typed words and the situation Lexa found herself currently in was not lost on her. If anything, it made her throat swell, and she closed the book gently, resting it on the coffee table by her scattered papers and turning off the lamp. 

With one last look towards the window, one last open ear towards the door as she locked just the handle so Clarke could get in with her keys, Lexa walked back down the hallway to climb into bed alone. 

 

*****

 

The sound of buzzing on wood was not a pleasant one, and it was  _ just _ irritating enough to pull Lexa from a deep sleep with an annoyed eyebrow raised towards the noise. Groaning at her aching limbs still heavy with dreams, she fumbled to wrap her fingers around her phone, pulling it towards her with squinted eyes. The buzzing stopped; whoever called could obviously wait until morning. After lowering the brightness to a tolerable level, Lexa gawked at the time,  _ 2:06 am  _ in large white text resting at the top of her screen. She had to be up to meet Anya at the new office in less than four hours, and she would be lying if she said her interrupted sleep didn’t instantly put her in a bad mood for the day. 

Lexa moved a hand out to her side, patting the bed next to her, only to be met with an ever so familiar iciness that cradled the sheets. It was foolish of her to continue hoping for Clarke’s soft skin next to hers every night, but Lexa blamed the action on muscle memory alone without much thought. 

She sat up in bed, feeling more hair untangle itself from her loose bun, falling down around her shoulders. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, feeling the sleep leave them like a ghost; it was clear to her that she was fully awake and there was no hope of going back to sleep anytime soon. 

Her mind refocused on the piles of paperwork that littered her living room table, and with cracking joints and low moans, Lexa moved from the bedroom to the living room with an unquenched drive to finish all of her work before she went into the firm. That way, her and Clarke could talk everything over without the pressure of responsibilities tapping Lexa on the shoulder like a petulant child. 

Turning on the light, Lexa felt an uneasy feeling settle in her bones, akin to a skipping rock sinking to the bottom of a stream after a lousy throw. Something didn’t feel right, and it didn’t take long for Lexa to put her finger on it. 

The couch was empty, the kitchen untouched, the door still locked. It struck her as odd, realizing that Clarke wasn’t asleep on the couch like she usually was. It was far too late to still be out, especially in this weather. Before Lexa could begin to overthink, the phone in her hand buzzed again, making her jump. 

With shaking hands, Lexa turned to look at the phone screen, seeing an unfamiliar number light up her screen. She slid her thumb across the bottom, answering the call with a whispered voice and bated breath. 

“Hello?” Her voice was soft and uneasy, the vocal equivalent of an eggshell walk. Lexa heard shuffling on the other end of the line and she struggled to focus. 

“H-hello, is this...Lexa Woods?” The voice was masculine, deep and inquisitive, almost as if he were cold-reading from a script he was just given. 

“Yes? Who is this?” Lexa questioned, eager to hear the reason for calling at such a late hour. 

“This is Officer Davis of the NYPD. Are you the emergency contact for Clarke Griffin?” The words were unhurried and practical; he had delivered this call before, only swapping out names. Lexa felt her stomach churn violently, her knees beginning to shake. She nearly fell to the couch, barely making it somewhere other than the floor as she collapsed her weight entirely. 

“Y-yes, I-I believe so. I don’t know, we never-”

“There’s been an accident, Miss Woods. Down on Adams Road just south of Chapel Street. We’re waiting on an ambulance now if you’d-”

Lexa lowered the phone from her ear. She couldn’t hear anything past the violent ringing anyway. Her head felt as if it had been sucker punched, a violent pain radiating behind her lids that quivered with tears. She hung up the phone without looking, sliding it into her pocket as she remained frozen on the couch. 

The words rang over and over in her head like a ferris wheel destined to never stop. 

_ Clarke Griffin. _

_ There’s been an accident. _

_ We’re waiting on an ambulance. _

Without thinking, Lexa lept from the couch and sprinted to the door. She was desperate to unlock the door, her shaking hands feeling otherwise. Adams Road was just on the other end of the neighborhood, about a mile from their house; Clarke must’ve been on her way home. 

Throwing open the front door and shutting it behind her, Lexa stepped out into the rain without shoes, without house keys, without anything but the thick, comfortable clothes on her overheated body and a phone, heavy in her pocket. A clap of thunder rang out from above her, acting more like a starting pistol at a track meet than a very common side effect of crummy weather. Lexa looked up towards the sky, feeling the rain blend in with her tears, the moon barely visible behind clouds. 

She took off in a sprint, her chest screaming with every breath she took. 

 

*****

 

_ She was out of breath, air ragged and rough as it flooded her lungs. The faster she walked, the tenser her muscles became, begging for her to slow, begging for relief. Lexa only had a twenty minute break before she was supposed to meet with her next client, there was no slowing down.  _

_ As she rounded the corner of the sidewalk, heels demanding attention from every patron sitting outside her favorite cafe, she sighed in relief at the sight of the gorgeous brick building that brought her so much joy. Even in the bustling city, it provided such a comforting presence, a warm hug after a long day.  _

_ She pulled open the door, thrilled that she was able to catch her breath just in time to inhale the fresh aroma of brewing coffee and sweet cream. She began digging in her purse, feeling the sunglasses on top of her head sliding down ever so slightly with every movement.  _

_ As soon as she wrapped her fingers around her wallet, starting to pull it from her bag, a mass of blonde hair and wrinkled clothes crashed into her like a punch to the chest. Lexa stumbled backwards, mouth silent but agape as she felt cold liquid seep into the fabric of her white dress shirt, creeping towards the waistband of her sleek black trousers. It made goosebumps push against her skin, raising the fine hairs down her arms as the cold crept into her muscles.  _

_ “I-I’m so, so sorry, I-I w-wasn’t looking and I-” The girl in front of her babbled incessantly; trying to distract from any embarrassment, no doubt. Lexa felt her blood begin to boil and her cheeks begin to flush as she soon realized that every pair of eyes were on them, the silence of the cafe almost deafening. Soon, the chatter of the customers went back to normal, slowly elevating back to an appropriate volume, and Lexa braced herself to bring her gaze to the woman still stuttering in front of her. She tried formulating her thoughts, not wanting to scream outright in such a public place. Her break was ticking to a close and not only was she not holding a much needed cup of coffee in her hand, her pantsuit was drenched with someone else’s.  _

_ Lexa raised her eyes to scan the girl in front of her, and she felt herself soften almost instantly. In front of her stood Clarke Griffin, the sweet blonde bombshell she sat behind in her intro to psychology class freshman year, when they attended university together for a short time. Lexa was thrown back into vivid memories of watching the way Clarke’s shoulders flexed when she raised her hand much more than she watched the professor. She remembered the way the soft blonde hair cascaded down Clarke’s back like a gentle ocean, never failing to make Lexa feel as if she were drowning in its depths for an entire class period. Through her memories, she also remembered never even speaking to the girl, only catching her name and admiring from afar; Clarke had no idea she existed then, and sure as hell didn’t recognize her now, standing blank-faced in a coffee shop, drowning in some girl’s iced mocha.  _

_ Clarke was ripping napkins from their holder on the counter, ignoring the frustrated looks the barista shot at them. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention, I-” _

_ Lexa held up a hand, silencing her instantly. Their eyes met, the earth meeting the sea, and Lexa felt her breath stutter. If she thought she saw Clarke do a double take, she ignored it to favor her own sanity. If she even began to fathom a world where Clarke found her attractive too, a world where only prepubescent twelve year old boys live, she would never be able to keep a stoic tone.  _

_ “It’s okay, really,” Lexa reassured her, watching as Clarke dropped her shoulders at the soft smile Lexa threw her way. It made butterflies begin to emerge from their cocoons in Lexa’s stomach, cocoons she thought would never open again. Not after Costia.  _

_ “Can I pay for your coffee?” The blonde asked, her voice dripping like honey in Lexa’s ears. It was music to her, a simple melody she wanted to replay, over and over again. It was then that Lexa saw Clarke’s paint-stained overalls, a few strokes missing the canvas and landing across her chin as well. She nearly giggled at the sight, a warmth filling her chest.  _

_ “No, that’s okay. It’s...it’s no problem, I swear,” Lexa said. It was almost sickening how soft her voice had become. If this were anyone else, if a balding man in a rush replaced Clarke in this scenario, he might’ve walked out of the cafe with even less hair than he came in with. Lexa came in on edge already, a cutthroat reaction not out of the ordinary for the flustered lawyer.  _

_ But this was Clarke, the girl she swooned over for months without having spoken a single word to her. The girl she told Anya about while laying on her bedroom floor, eyes glued to the ceiling as her sister threw pillows at her teasingly. The girl that gave her a hummingbird heartbeat and encouraged her to go to class on time every day, even when she was sick. Of course, Clarke knew none of this. To her, Lexa was a stranger she just embarrassed herself in front of.  _

_ “Let me pay for your dry cleaning? That...your clothes, they must’ve been expensive,” Clarke sighed, running a hand through tangled blonde locks caked with primer. “Do you have a card I can take or something? I really do feel terrible, I was just in such a rush and I-” _

_ “Really, it’s okay,” Lexa chuckled at the girl’s urgency. The sound seemed to settle Clarke’s nerves, Lexa watching as the girl lowered her shoulders ever so slightly. “This isn’t the first time this has happened, actually. I wasn’t looking where I was going either, no worries. Thank you, though.” Lexa smiled warmly at the blonde, a fire stoked in her stomach when Clarke mirrored it without hesitation. Just then, a soft glint swept across Clarke’s eyes, so quick that Lexa wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t her imagination.  _

_ “Fine. Then let me take you to dinner,” Clarke said firmly, her voice bold and courageous, a hint of suggestiveness in her words. Lexa remembered this Clarke: the Clarke that was brash without being cocky, firm without being hard, soft without losing her edges. She also knew that Clarke was not going to give up, especially since she obviously had her mind so set on repaying Lexa for a mistake that the brunette was now thrilled about.  _

_ “You’re not going to give this up, are you?” Lexa asked, a playful grin painting her lips as she watched determination set a fire ablaze in Clarke’s cornflower eyes. Clarke laughed and shook her head whimsically, a slight blush creeping up her neck.  _

_ “No, I’m not,” Clarke admitted, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that made Lexa’s knees shake. Now was her chance; her chance to chase the girl she had almost forgotten about after all these years. She would be damned if she let Clarke go again.  _

_ “Fine,” she conceded, a white flag hanging from her shoulders. “You win. Here,” she mumbled, going back into her purse - now dripping with coffee - and pulling out the wallet she had long forgotten. Her fingers shook as she pulled out a simple, black business card with her name and her firm announced in tiny white letters, cursive and formal. She handed the card to Clarke, who eagerly took it from her like a child on Christmas morning. Lexa had to stop herself from laughing out loud.  _

_ “There’s my card,” she explained, tapping the laminated cardstock in Clarke’s hand with a finger before putting her wallet away and tugging her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “It has my cell number underneath my work phone.” Lexa felt her chest swell with anxiety. This was a bold move, even for her. She felt adrenaline wash over her and she latched onto it with everything she had before she lost all the confidence she had worked so hard to build over the years. “I work a lot during the week, but feel free to text me whenever,” she added, her words coming out in one long breath instead of individually. It made Clarke giggle softly, and Lexa nearly fell to the floor in a swooning puddle of mush at the sound.  _

_ Clarke nodded at Lexa’s instructions, tucking the card between two fingers like a lit cigarette, bringing her eyes back up to Lexa’s.  _

_ “You’ll definitely be hearing from me, Miss Woods.” _

 

*****

 

If the tough gravel ripped holes in the bottom of Lexa’s favorite socks, she ignored it. Or maybe she didn’t feel it. She couldn’t really feel anything besides the feeling of the rain whipping against her cheeks and her heartbeat in her ears. The weather nipped at her skin, biting its cold into her bones, trying its hardest to get her to stop running and take shelter. She didn’t. Ever so determined, ever the most focused person, Lexa kept running against the wind, Clarke’s sweatshirt nearly soaked with rainwater. 

Lexa swore she had never run so fast in her life. 

She felt like she couldn’t catch her breath, every inhale ripping the air from her lungs in an instant. The loose hairs around her face turned into knives against her throat at her speed. 

She felt lightheaded and disoriented, so disoriented that she couldn’t be sure if she really saw red and blue lights flashing incessantly, or if that was just her imagination, conjured from something she was desperate for. She approached the scene quickly, feeling tears streaming down her cheeks faster than the rain, choked sobs ripping through her throat whenever she could bring air into her lungs. 

Soon, her vision focused on the kitschy yellow of caution tape, wrapped twice around two large trees that were nestled on either side of the road. There were two police cars, resting perpendicular to each other, effectively preventing traffic and directing it the other way without words; this was a scene bad enough that someone  _ could _ look away and not feel guilty. 

Lexa saw four police officers, decorated men holding their hats against their chest, running firm hands through their short hair matted by the rain. They were talking together in whispered voices - not that Lexa could hear anything over the sound of her own panic - and they almost didn’t notice the disheveled brunette approaching the scene. One of them, a stout blonde woman with rosy cheeks and a hard stare, broke from the group and hustled towards the edge of the caution tape, waiting for Lexa to get close enough to speak to her. 

The sound of the storm was deafening, and Lexa could barely hear her feet slowing down once she got to the edge of the treeline. She was sure she looked like a mess, wearing sweatpants with holes and a sweatshirt with more paint stains than fabric, but she couldn’t care less. She was desperate to see Clarke, to hold her in her arms, to wrap her warm,  _ living _ body against her own and whisper sweet nothings until the rest of the world fell away. But that moment would never come, and Lexa was painfully aware. 

“Ma’am, ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to stay back please,” the officer said firmly, holding up both hands towards Lexa, who was looking everywhere other than at her. “I need you to stay behind the tape, miss.”

Lexa shook her head, her eyes wide with terror as she scanned the scene. It all blurred together, it was all too much. Flashing colors bled into one another, creating nothing more than a dull throbbing of brown. The rain puddling at her feet no longer reflected everything above it, but instead made itself cloudy and bleak against the pavement. Lexa couldn’t focus; for the first time in her adult life - besides the tender moments she shared with Clarke in their bedroom, her mind free and unbarred - she couldn’t focus. It was disorienting and it unraveled her to her core, creating the stammering, shivering mess that sat bare in front of an accident. 

“M-my girl-” Lexa paused, feeling the words grow like cotton in her throat. They didn’t feel right. It felt pitiful and weak. “My w-wife, sh-she...that’s, that-” Lexa pointed towards the wreck she could barely see, and she forced herself with gritted teeth to stay put. She wasn’t entirely sure she _ wanted  _ to see, terrified that she could never go back once she looked. 

The officer nodded, immediately understanding the broken words and choked sobs coming from the woman. She raised the tape just a bit, urging Lexa to climb under and join her. 

Lexa’s legs barely worked, and they turned to sand as she moved one foot in front of the other, eaten by the ocean growing beneath her. She almost didn’t make it past the tape, but with a determination so fierce and a sadness so raw, Lexa managed to take a few measly steps forward, lowering her weight underneath the tape to crawl under, only to collapse to her knees once she crossed the edge. 

As she fell, already feeling the gravel biting into her screaming skin, she looked up through her tears, watching the scene that unfolded before her. 

Clarke’s deep red Honda, the one she bought when she was eighteen, was nearly wrapped around the thick trunk of a malicious tree, a tree Lexa suddenly wished to cut down for no other reason than revenge. Glass was scattered carelessly around the tires, the tiny shards looking more like stars in the night sky against the deep black of the road. Smoke whispered from the popped hood, the engine no doubt busted and fried. A single headlight was still on, flickering and threatening to burn out like the flame of a candle. There was a gut-wrenching sound, a sound that grated Lexa’s ears until they attempted to mute themselves for her own sake. It was the sound of the jaws of life, a sound Lexa had never heard in real life before. It made her sick to her stomach, the bile in her throat threatening to make a home on the asphalt instead. 

A firefighter with a large coat and a tongue between his teeth held a large machine in his hands, shouting for someone to come help him. A few police officers came running, eager to open the door and get the victim out. Get  _ Clarke _ out. 

As Lexa fell to her knees with an aching hole in her chest where her heart shattered into pieces, she looked up just in time to see a mass of tangled blonde hair, painted with deep red brushstrokes and sculpted over pale blue skin. Clarke’s head rested against the steering wheel, unmoving and marbled, a tragic statue in a museum of Lexa’s worse fears. 

Lexa screamed her name through the dark like it was the only sweet thing she could taste against her lips. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: aliciaclarkes

_The soft fabric of Lexa’s sheer, black dress found its way between her fingers quickly, fiddling with the hem as a way to calm the wave of nerves crashing under her skin. She stood outside a building with warm, muted colors, its playlist of soft Italian music drifting to the street outside. Ivy crept up the exterior, clinging to the chipped white brick, slithering its way towards the awning that protected Lexa from the light drizzle letting loose from the clouds above her. Every so often, she heard the unmistakable sound of clinking wine glasses and comfortable laughter from the guests inside. Lexa crossed her arms over her chest defensively as she watched cars pass by, eyes straining to find her date among one of them. She worried that she was at the wrong place, realizing that Clarke had only texted her an address and not the name of the restaurant itself._

_“Hey pretty lady,” came a cheerful voice, coated with sweetness and giddy with laughter. Lexa turned her head, a smile sketching its way to her lips as she watched Clarke walk quickly towards the entrance of the building, taking cover from the rain as best she could. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight and waited for Clarke to approach her. As the blonde stepped under the flickering patio lights, Lexa felt her breath hitch in her throat. The blonde - always stunning, always cocky - sauntered her way towards the shivering lawyer, smirking as she watched Lexa drink her in._

_It was the deep maroon dress hugging Clarke’s curves that made Lexa’s mouth go dry. It was the low cut of the fabric, displaying Clarke’s cleavage sinfully and without remorse, that made Lexa’s knees shake. It was the way the girl’s golden locks draped themselves down her back in a waterfall, slightly tousled, that made Lexa’s stomach flutter. The artist was her own masterpiece, absolutely dazzling beneath the fairy lights that hung from the building behind them, and Lexa was breathless among the artwork. Clarke only grinned childishly at her, the underlying brashness about her surfacing once again._

_“Hi,” Lexa tried, her voice almost too soft for Clarke to hear, as if she was afraid of her words cracking like a sidewalk the minute they came out. She could feel her fingers shaking at her sides and quickly clasped them together in front of her to mask any nerves she had. Clarke stepped closer, the flowery perfume she wore much more noticeable - and much more distracting - to Lexa’s nose._

_Lexa watched carefully as Clarke offered an outstretched hand, palm turned towards the sky, with blue eyes searching her own. Clarke raised an eyebrow, and Lexa felt the bright pinks of embarrassment flush her cheeks. She took Clarke’s hand as she took a deep breath, tangling their fingers together while trying to ignore the electricity that shot through her arm at the slightest graze. Clarke’s palm was warm against her own, and she nearly collapsed when she felt a thumb stroke the back of her hand in delicate circles. A gentle squeeze broke her stare from their entwined hands, and she looked up to Clarke’s waiting gaze. The crashing blue ocean that met her was enough to make her heart flutter with want, and before she could stop herself, her eyes dropped to the artist’s soft lips, painted with nude lipstick she hadn’t noticed before. Clarke only smiled, squeezing her hand again._

_“You look stunning,” she commented, her thumb still moving against Lexa’s clammy skin. “Are you ready? I hope you like Italian,” Clarke laughed, and Lexa felt her shoulders relax at the sound. She nodded with a grin, mirroring the blonde and squeezing her hand back in reassurance._

_In an instant, Lexa felt herself being led into the restaurant, watching as Clarke demanded attention from the room around them, stealing air from the lungs of everyone that laid eyes on her. It was hypnotizing, the confidence the blonde exuded from every inch of her skin. She was a fearless firecracker that relished in the idea of being wanted, though it was clear to everyone that she only wanted one person in particular. It was surreal to watch, and Lexa devoured the sight before her with hungry eyes._

_“Hi, table for two under Woods,” Clarke directed towards the hostess. Lexa watched as the grin on Clarke’s face grew, clearly knowing that the brunette wanted her to turn around, yet refusing to look anywhere but at the podium in front of them._

_They were led to their table, a small booth tucked away in a corner at the far end of the restaurant; Lexa was more than thankful that they were able to get away from the usual bustle of the dinner rush and the grating sounds of other customers, allowing a bubble meant for just her and Clarke to form._

_Lexa removed her purse from her shoulder, setting it on the booth beside her as she sat down. A candle sat in the center of the table, wax slowly dripping down the sides towards the silver candle holder at its base. The light from the fire illuminated Clarke’s features, her smile dazzling against the warmth of the glow, making Lexa’s chest constrict._

_Soon, a young boy approached the table, a notebook in his hand and a black bow tie around his neck. He started jotting down the table number on the ticket and introduced himself quickly - almost too quickly for Lexa to catch his name, much less the name of the restaurant._

_“Hi, welcome to Terra & Mare, my name is Anthony and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Can I-” The waiter looked up from his notepad and made eye contact with Clarke, a smile quickly appearing on his face. Deep in her gut, Lexa felt a sharp twinge of _something _that she couldn’t quite place at the way they looked at each other. She forced herself to swallow as she watched the scene unfold in front of her._

_“Hey Clarke! Long time no see!” The waiter loosened his shoulders and dropped his hands, feeling much more comfortable around the young women. Clarke shot him a grin, her body turned towards his as she mirrored his polite ‘hellos’ with her own. Lexa felt her cheeks flush, suddenly feeling awkward - a feeling she rarely had since graduating law school._

_“Just the usual today?” he asked, and Lexa’s ears perked up. She watched as Clarke blushed profusely with a curious gaze, and the blonde turned to look back at her instead of the waiter._

_“Yes, for the both of us actually,” she said softly, gaze never breaking from Lexa’s. Lexa watched from the corner of her eye as the waiter scribbled a few notes in a rush, obviously remembering every detail about Clarke’s order without a hint of reminders. When he finished, he pocketed the notepad, moving to grab the menus before Clarke stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. Lexa nearly growled at the sight, a reaction childish enough to surprise herself._

_“And a bottle of champagne for the table,” she added, turning her attention back towards the lawyer sitting stiffly in front of her. The waiter nodded with a grin before leaving them be, the blanket of privacy forming around them once again, a comforting warmth relaxing Lexa’s tense muscles._

_“I get take out a lot,” she shrugged before Lexa could question anything. “Like...a lot, a lot,” she laughed, rubbing her hands together nervously. The sight of a nervous Clarke made Lexa’s heart flutter like a teenager. The idea that she could possibly make a girl like Clarke_ nervous _was astounding and surreal, a high she never wanted to come down from._

_“I can see that,” Lexa muttered in reply with a smirk on her lips. The image of Clarke, caked with paint and wearing sweatpants at a fancy Italian restaurant, was amusing to say the least, causing a fit of hushed laughter between them._

_The champagne was brought to them quickly, and Clarke wasted no time in pouring Lexa a drink. The brunette took the glass from Clarke with shaking hands, her simple Cartier bracelet glinting in the candlelight, catching Clarke’s watchful eyes._

_“Cartier, huh?” Clarke commented, a smirk playing against her lips. “I would’ve never guessed.”_

_Clarke sat back in her seat, crossing her legs underneath the table as she picked up her glass. Lexa mirrored the artist, her mouth growing dryer than a desert the longer she stared at the way the tight fabric of the girl’s dress dipped provocatively across her chest._

_“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she retorted playfully, teasing Clarke, beckoning her closer. Clarke set her glass back on the table, drawing lines down its stem with a single finger. Her lips had kissed a rose-tinted mark against the rim, and the simple detail made Lexa swoon._

_“What is there to know?” Clarke asked with a fire in her eyes as she bore soft blue into deep green._

_“W-what?”_

_“I said, what is there to know? Enlighten me, Miss Woods. What can you tell me about yourself?”_

_Lexa stared at the kiss stain on Clarke’s glass for longer than what could be deemed acceptable before meeting Clarke’s gaze. Being nervous - or feeling any sort of anxiety, really - was not Lexa’s forte. She commanded herself to become a powerhouse in law school, a force to be reckoned with; it was the only way to prevent being eaten alive by the competitive nature of her peers. Yet here she sat, in a dimly lit corner with a girl that exuded pure sunshine, and she felt nothing but the claws of apprehension rip their way down her spine._

_“Well, what would you like to know, Clarke?”_

_Clarke opened her mouth to ask what Lexa assumed would have been a slew of surface-level questions, but closed it quickly when she saw their food approach the table. The waiter dropped off their meals and topped off their waters without a word before leaving them in comfortable silence once again._

_“Where did you go to school?” Clarke asked as she twirled a few pasta noodles onto her fork. She should have known the girl wouldn’t give up easy._

_“I graduated from Columbia,” Lexa answered stoically, reaching for the salt in the center of the table. She crossed her fingers, hoping Clarke wouldn’t comment on the prestige of her school, hoping they could move on. Lexa found herself growing humbler as the years went on, and chose to wear her school colors in the privacy of her own home. Instead, Clarke’s eyes widened in comical surprise._

_“I went to Columbia!” Clarke exclaimed quietly, fork frozen in the air._

_“I know.” Lexa’s breath hitched. The words came faster than she wanted them to, forcing their way through tight lips to Clarke’s open ears._

_“You know? How?”_

_Lexa took a deep breath. “I sat behind you in intro to psych freshman year.”_

_Clarke beamed, eyes glinting with adoration for the lawyer, and Lexa felt her heart skip a beat. She didn’t necessarily want to tell Clarke about her childish pining, or about how she secretly saw Clarke in every aspect of her day for years on end, becoming the butt end of Anya’s devilish jokes and sisterly teasing. Yet the words that unlocked that door spilled from her lips like ink on a page, and she couldn’t bottle it back up._ Maybe Clarke would think it was sweet _she thought to herself._

_“Huh,” Clarke puzzled, returning her attention to her half-touched food. “I don’t think I ever noticed you.”_

_Lexa nodded at the admission before drinking the other half of her champagne in a quick swig. She knew there was no way Clarke could have ever noticed her, considering how silent she was during that first year of school. It was just her and Anya against the world - or until she learned how to be social and make friends._

_“I-I don’t mean, not that you’re not noticeable, I just-”_

_“Clarke, it’s okay,” Lexa chuckled, interrupting the babbling artist, making her pale skin flush with a heat of red color. “I was quiet in school. Besides, didn’t you leave halfway through the semester?”_

_Clarke smiled at her, relaxing her shoulders again, the action inching the red fabric of her dress down impossibly lower. She leaned back in her seat a bit, the pale column of her neck extending as she picked up her glass again. She cocked her head, allowing an unobstructed sight of dipping collarbones and smooth skin, perfect for tender kisses and whispered words. Lexa swallowed, picking at her food as a distraction._

_“Yeah, I did,” she mused, uncrossing her legs to favor her ankles in a more comfortable position. “I went to NYAA instead. Much to my mother’s chagrin.”_

_Lexa watched disheartedly as the overly-confident woman in front of her stacked walls around herself for the first time that night. It made her chest clench as she watched Clarke resume eating without another word. Feeling a drop of adrenaline rush through her blood like a heatwave, Lexa reached her slender fingers across the table, turning a palm upwards towards the ceiling as if it were praying to the gods for any sort of response from the girl she was already head-over-heels for. Thankfully, between bated breath and nervous glances, Clarke wrapped her own fingers around Lexa’s, squeezing her reassurance with a soft smile on her lips._

_They finished their food in near silence, a few comments and questions about each other slipping between mouthfuls. It was a comfortable atmosphere that Lexa found herself in, content to watch Clarke through small sips of the champagne that was starting to make her head fuzzy. The artist explained a wild story about her childhood with theatrical hands and wide eyes that made Lexa melt into the booth behind her. She was enraptured, focused on nothing but the heady voice of the fiery blonde across from her and the whispers of skin where their legs brushed under the table. She was marbled against the world but felt herself become putty in Clarke’s hands, so much so that she barely registered when the waiter brought their bill, immediately handing it to Clarke with a tired smile._

_“Hey, no let me-” Lexa started, opening her purse to find her wallet amongst the clutter of pens, tampons and loose change. Before she could wrap her fingers around the cheap plastic of her credit card, the waiter vanished, along with the little black book. Clarke simply grinned childishly with a tongue nestled between her teeth and her eyes shining with satisfaction._

_The girls walked out of the restaurant, hand in hand with stomachs full and comfortable. It had stopped raining, but the asphalt still reflected the bright lights that hung above them like vines in a forest. It was late in the evening, the restaurant nearly empty aside from the occasional busboy and a few heavy drinkers at the bar. Heels against pavement was the only sound that echoed around them, the music turned off and the cars scarce. They stopped just outside the front doors, Clarke turning on her heel to face Lexa under the awning._

_“So,” she started, wetting her lips and wringing her hands together._

_“So...we’ll have to do this again sometime,” Lexa finished, her courage coming with her tipsiness. It had been over five years, Lexa would be damned if she let Clarke escape her again. “Next time I pay.”_

_Without hesitation, without any warning signs, Clarke leaned forward quickly, capturing Lexa’s lips against her own. Lexa felt the air leave her chest, her heart throbbing loudly in her ears. Warmth wrapped around her like a blanket, light exploding behind her eyelids. She felt as if her heart were coming out of hibernation._

_As she gained her bearings, she kissed Clarke back, relishing in the feeling of lips swollen with stories against her own, writing down every word they offered her for memories sake. She felt the artist press closer to her, feeling warmth against her body as Clarke’s fingers tangled themselves gently into long, brown locks. Lexa felt dizzy against the girl’s soothing touches, her need for air forcing her to pull away with a pout on her lips._

_Clarke smiled at her like she was the only person on earth. Lexa stared at her like she put the stars in the sky. To them, they were both right._

 

*****

 

The bustling of doctors and nurses paired with the ringing hum of machines made Lexa feel dizzy under the fluorescents of the hospital. The waiting room was empty, with magazines thrown lazily across the coffee table in the middle and chairs slightly askew; it somehow made Lexa feel more alone, having no one to lean on and no one to cry to.

“We need the OR stat,” a nurse shouted, bringing Lexa’s attention back to the crowd of hospital staff around her girlfriend. She felt like a child at a baseball game, unable to see past the people in front of her but desperate to catch a flash of _anything._

Clarke was unconscious on a stretcher twice her size, making her pale frame seem impossibly smaller. Crimson dripped down her temple from a deep wound near her hairline and the sight made Lexa’s stomach churn. She matched her pace with the doctors, pushing through swinging doors and past nosy patients standing by their doors to catch a glimpse of the action. In her right mind, Lexa would have sneered at them or told them off. Instead, the only thing she could focus on - the only thing clouding her mind - was Clarke.

As they approached a set of doors screaming ‘ _OPERATING STAFF ONLY_ ’ in bright red letters, Lexa felt hands press gently against her shoulders, preventing her from moving forward.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to stay back here.”

Lexa stopped struggling against the nurse’s hold, sighing her defeat and slumping against her hands. She closed her eyes when she felt a tear drip down her cheek and onto the linoleum under her nearly-bare feet.

“You’re welcome to wait in the waiting room, if you’d like,” the nurse tried, reciting the words like a script she had practiced countless times before. Lexa could only nod in her tired state, walking crestfallen back towards the waiting room that smelled thickly of stale coffee and exhaustion.

She found a seat in the corner, away from the cool air let in by the automatic doors and away from the gossipping ladies at the front desk. She pulled her knees up to her chest despondently, wrapping her arms around her legs and curling herself into a ball. Her chestnut hair fell around her, framing her face softly, but she couldn’t bring herself to fix it. She knew her eyes were red and puffy with her sadness but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The dripping clothes on her back clung to her curves and Clarke’s scent enveloped her senses, bringing fresh tears to the corners of her eyes. With every breath she felt a knife plunge into her chest. With every stifled sob she heard their last words to each other ring in her head like a church bell; so full of bitterness, so full of unrequited rage. She would take it all back if she could.

Lexa felt her eyes grow heavy, thick with memories of self-perpetuated arguments and a home that deformed back into a house with every sigh thrown like knives at the other person. Pushing past the thoughts that were dyed red with resentment, Lexa desperately clung to her memories of Clarke, smiling and playful. Memories of bouncing blonde curls dancing to Sinatra in their new kitchen as boxes sat by the front door, begging to be unpacked. Memories of a playful “ _shhh!_ ” and a gentle nudge whenever Lexa interrupted her favorite show. Memories of delicate whimpers and sweaty palms dragging down the dip in Lexa’s spine, _I love yous_ whispered into the darkness of the bedroom that swallowed them whole. Lexa clung to those memories with bleeding fingers and pale knuckles. It was the only thing she had left. All she could do now was wait.

She tried not to watch the clock that ticked mercilessly from its spot on the wall. She felt her sadness drain into vapid emptiness, more uncomfortable than anything else. She wanted to go home, to wrap Clarke in her arms and kiss her temple until the world around them gave way into nothingness. She wanted to listen to Clarke’s breathing mellow as she fell asleep against Lexa’s chest, murmuring sweet nothings against her ear, promising to defeat the evils of the world if it meant she could rest peacefully. Lexa wanted to hold Clarke close to her, too close for air to breathe between them, and dance with her under the dim light of their dining room chandelier. She wanted to live with Clarke, so she needed Clarke to live.

Through restless dozing and fitful sleep, Lexa felt herself drift between consciousness and dreams clouded with distorted memories of the accident. Every time the car contorted itself around the tree, Lexa woke with a start, scaring the receptionists at the front desk.

Lexa felt her phone buzz madly in her pocket, ripping her from another terror about to unfold behind her eyelids. Groaning with sore muscles and bags under her eyes, she fumbled for her phone, seeing her sister’s name flash on the screen. She sighed as she saw both the time and the number of voicemails she had. It was six in the morning, and she was supposed to be at the office an hour ago. The new firm was on track to open tomorrow, with employees fresh out of college - that barely passed the bar exam - filtering in with faces akin to newborns, ready to get to work. Anya must’ve been close to tears when Lexa didn’t show up.

Preparing herself for a barrage of screaming and a tantrum fit for a toddler, Lexa slid the answer button on the screen, lifting the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“Would you care to explain to me why you’re over an hour late today?” Anya’s voice was sharp, a tone Lexa rarely heard. It startled her at first, but she let Anya continue as she felt her eyes sting with tears.

“I think it’s a little ridiculous that I showed up on time and _you_ , little miss _perfectionist_ , did not. Do you know how much fucking paperwork I have sitting on my desk right now, Lexa? It’s a lot! On top of that, you promised me an annotated copy of Wallace’s case yesterday. _Yesterday_ , Lexa. Where is it? Are you too busy boning Clarke to even pick up the phone now?” Her sister spat her words like poison through fanged teeth and it drove nails into Lexa’s heart. She cringed at the forcefulness of her sister’s tone, but gawked at the final comment, deciding it was time to step in.

“Anya?” She breathed, her voice cracking and barely audible. She heard a shuffle of papers, a heavy huff of frustration.

“Yes? What is it?”

Lexa paused, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth. She drew blood in an attempt to hold back her choked sobs, determined to remain as detached as she could be. Without her drive to remain a model of stoicism, she worried she would crumble to the floor in jagged bits of fear and broken love.

“I-it’s Clarke. I’m at the hospital. I...I need shoes,” she said, looking down at her fuzzy pink socks muddied with grass stains and asphalt. She heard breathing on the other end, closing her eyes and grounding herself with the sound of her sister.

“I’ll be right there.” The line disconnected, and Lexa was crippled with the knowledge that she was left alone with her thoughts again, as long as sleep evaded her completely.

Thankfully, Anya arrived quickly, speeding across town with a lead foot. Lexa heard the automatic doors screech open, letting the early morning sunlight filter in, making her squint against the brightness too extreme for her tired eyes. She turned her body to find Anya standing at the doors with her chest heaving.

“Anya?” Lexa piped, her voice quiet, as if in fear that any amount of volume would shatter the stained glass windows painted in her eyes, letting the tears fall freely across the face of a woman who based her career on apathy and apathy alone. Anya turned towards her at the broken sound, rushing to her side in an instant.

Lexa felt strong arms wrap around her slender waist, pulling her out of the chair and onto her feet. She breathed in the smell of her sister, the scent of earth and rain and spring flowers tangling its way through her bones in a calming trance. She relaxed in Anya’s arms, tucking her head into the crook of her neck as she forced herself to keep her tears at bay.

“Lex, what happened?” She felt Anya’s words more than heard them, rumbling against her own chest with how tight they were pressed together. She didn’t want to break away from the comfort that surrounded her whenever she touched her sister, but she took a deep breath and compelled a step backwards, putting distance between them before she had time to change her mind.

“We...we got in a fight,” Lexa started, the words feeling like poison on her tongue. This was not her story to tell. Her perception of the accident was twisted and distorted, an abstract image constructed by self pity and gut-wrenching worry. She knew that what she saw was only a caricature of what Clarke felt, a mere sketch of how broken her girlfriend looked as she left the house. It made her stomach churn as she realized that as similar as they were, the lives they were living had grown progressively separate, green and blue seeing only the hue they were given instead of seeing gold together.

This was not her story to tell.

“I got a phone call...from a police officer,” she started again with trembling words. Anya barely breathed, desperate to hear every word Lexa said. “H-he said that Clarke was...in an accident. I didn’t...I just ran.” Lexa choked back a sob that threatened to tear its way through her throat. Without question, Anya had her hands around Lexa’s shoulders, pulling her back into her chest with a bear hug meant for someone truly hurting.

“I brought your shoes, they’re in the car,” Anya whispered against the crown of her head. Lexa nodded against her neck, breaking away from her sister again to wipe the tears from her eyes with shaking fingers. Anya shot her a sad smile, a smile that made Lexa feel sick to her stomach. Sympathy and condolences should be the last thing she received. Instead, she mentally directed that energy into an unmarked room with Clarke lying on a bed, unconscious and barely alive.

“Miss Woods?”

Both heads turned at the last name out of habit, but Anya stepped back quickly when she realized the deep voice came from a balding doctor with tired eyes walking towards them with paperwork in his hand. Lexa watched him with rapt attention, not entirely sure she was breathing.

“Clarke is going to be okay,” he started with a smile, his words a gentle breath that caused the chains of sadness to break around Lexa’s wrists. “If you would like to see her-”

“I would.” She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but spending the night in a waiting room chair with wet hair and ripped socks had her mouth running. The doctor smiled at her and cocked his head, beckoning Lexa to follow him down the hall to Clarke’s room.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” the doctor muttered to her, raising a hand and motioning Lexa to go inside. “I’ll be back in a few hours to discuss some things with you.”

The curtains were open, the morning sun shining through tinted glass. The wallpaper was simple, a sandy brown color swept across the walls; it was a nice contrast from the stark white of the rest of the hospital. Lexa’s ears perked up as she stepped across the threshold, hearing a cacophony of beeps and buzzes. Her eyes, desperate to find the source of the noise, drifted to the other side of the room. Three machines were nestled on the side of Clarke’s bed, a green line rising and falling with steady rhythm on the screen of one of them. Her gaze drifted to Clarke, and with a hitch in her breath, Lexa nearly barreled over to her, pulling up a stiff chair and seating herself by her girlfriend’s side.

Clarke was asleep, but she was alive. Lexa could only recite scripture in her mind, praising every god that she was breathing and sleeping and _alive_. Lexa drank in the extent of the girl’s damage, taking a heavy hand into her own. There was a gash down her hairline that traveled to the edge of her temple. Her right arm was casted from her knuckles to just above her elbow. Cotton-covered cuts and butterfly bandages littered her other arm down to the hand that Lexa held tight in her grasp, refusing to let go. Her eyes were closed, fluttering like mad under heavy eyelids, and Lexa could only watch her girlfriend sleep with a loving gaze. She was too distracted by her joy, too distracted by the drowning feeling of elation in her chest to realize that the doctor had left the doorway, only to be replaced by Anya carrying Lexa’s pair of cheap tennis shoes in one hand. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Anya set the shoes down by the door, tucking them into a corner and out of the way. She barely registered the lips pressed against the top of her head, or the gentle “text me if you need anything” that lulled its way into her ears as Anya left the hospital room with keys in her hand. Clarke had Lexa’s full attention, something that hadn’t been true the past few months.

“Hi baby,” Lexa whispered, rubbing circles along the back of Clarke’s unmoving hand. She felt silly, like she was speaking to no one, but the gentle beeping of the heart monitor reminded her that Clarke could hear every word she uttered through pursed lips.

“I’m so, so sorry Clarke.” Lexa swallowed sharply, feeling cotton in her throat. “I never meant for this to happen. I shouldn’t…”

Tears flowed freely down Lexa’s cheeks, dripping to the alabaster skin Lexa held in her hand. Admitting she was wrong, admitting she was anything less than perfect, was difficult for her. Her mouth wasn’t quite sure how to form the words that were painted in her mind, but she forced herself to try; for Clarke’s sake, and for her own.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” she started again through sniffles. “I know how hard you’ve been working. I know how hard this is for you. I miss you so much, Clarke. Please come back to me.” Lexa squeezed Clarke’s hand, only to be met with stillness that shattered her heart more than the bruises that littered Clarke’s skin.

Lexa laid her head down, resting her cheek against the warmth of Clarke’s arm, hearing the blonde’s pulse under her open ear. She smiled at the sound, feeling her shoulders relax at the comfort it brought in a world full of tragedy that clouded her vision.

“I miss you so much, love.” She felt her eyes grow heavy, lulled into sleep by the sound of her girlfriend’s heartbeat in rhythm with her own. Finally able to capture a sliver of catharsis between loose fingers, Lexa breathed a sigh of relief, letting sleep wash over her in a tidal wave.

Clarke was _alive. They_ were _alive._ She squeezed Clarke’s hand, knowing she wouldn’t get a response but accepting the hope that knocked at the door in her heart; a stranger turning back into a long lost friend. She let her tiredness consume her.

 

*****

 

_Lexa felt Clarke’s hand squeeze around her own. The warm embrace against her chilled fingers made her eyes flutter open, turning to look at the girl next to her._

_Lazy Sundays were always her favorite, and with the rain gently tapping against their bedroom window and the dizzying smell of Clarke surrounding her in their bed, Lexa had never felt more at home._

_Clarke pulled the blankets up higher on her chest, tucking them just underneath her chin, wiggling underneath the covers for some warmth. Lexa feigned astonishment, propping herself up on one elbow as she stared at Clarke._

_“You’re not going to make room for me?” she questioned, her voice sweet and teasing. Clarke giggled and Lexa’s heart swooned in her chest at the sound. Without having to ask again, Clarke lifted up the covers, allowing Lexa to crawl under the comfort of blankets to join her girlfriend._

_The artist settled her head against Lexa’s chest as the brunette placed a tender kiss to the top of wild blonde curls. Lexa sighed her contentment, running a lazy hand up and down Clarke’s spine. The world around them kept spinning, the sound of cars honking and planes flying overhead seeping into the amenity of the room, yet both of them drowned everything out except each other. Fingers danced across skin exposed under loose clothes and tied back hair. Lexa’s candied lips pressed soothing kisses down Clarke’s temple, feeling the girl smile against her mouth._

_“I want to see your art,” she murmured quietly, mostly to herself if anything else. Clarke froze in her arms and if her heart skipped a beat, Lexa ignored it. She had been thinking about asking for days but let her cowardice get the better of her. She realized months ago that she had never seen Clarke’s art, and whenever she got close, Clarke would shuffle around and cover everything up with a wave of her hand and a distracting kiss. She wanted to support Clarke - to praise her for the beauty she no doubt creates, to lift her in the air when something sold to a high bidder - yet Clarke never let her. She couldn’t pretend like it didn’t sting, being swept under the rug, but she was a master at facades._

_Clarke sat up, leaning her back against the headboard with eyes that bored into Lexa’s. The lawyer quickly mirrored her, inching herself up and sitting cross-legged on the bed with her hands in her lap. She waited for Clarke to say something, any sort of response more desirable than the uncomfortable silence they found themselves in. Their relationship was still a bit new, just cresting the ten month marker. Despite Clarke moving in with Lexa after a few dates - the lesbian trope not going unnoticed to either of them - their relationship still felt a bit guarded and fresh, often creating an atmosphere of uncertainty that neither of them felt entirely comfortable in. Lexa regretted asking the second it left her lips._

_“You...want to see my art?” Clarke broke the silence with a cracking voice and a curious glint in her eyes as she drank Lexa in, scanning her face for something; possibly rejection. Lexa nodded pointedly, wringing her hands together as she felt the tips of her ears grow hot._

_Clarke took a deep breath, filling her lungs with courage, before moving to throw her legs over the side of the mattress, bringing herself to her feet. Lexa watched with an enraptured stare, worried that a single smile would break the glass of the dream she found herself in._ Was Clarke really going to show her?

_“What would you trade for it?” Clarke questioned with a teasing glint in her eyes. Lexa felt her shoulders relax, sensing the lightheartedness return to the air around them at Clarke’s childish question._

_“Anything,” Lexa retorted quickly with a smile on her lips._

_“Anything?”_

_Lexa nodded firmly, desperate to see Clarke’s artwork. She would quit her job and give away all the money in the world if it meant she could get closer to the girl she so helplessly loved. She could practically taste the vivid colors on her lips._

_“Well come on then,” Clarke teased with a tongue between her teeth. Lexa grinned at her wildly before joining her pajama-clad girlfriend at the doorway with a bounce in her step, making Clarke chuckle._

_With careful steps down the hallway, Clarke opened the door to the study she had transformed into a private studio. She stepped inside like she lived there, yet Lexa halted under the doorframe, feeling more like a vampire than a confident, hot-shot lawyer with lions in her eyes._

_The room was flooded with a myriad of colors, wrapping Lexa in a blanket of creativity and kissing her eyes with lips of an artist. Green and red streaks littered empty canvases, obviously scrapped next to finished works covered with half-draped bed sheets. A cheap rug protected the hardwood from bright paints threatening stains and an old blanket covered the bookcase in the corner. It felt homey and complacent, a muted orange hanging itself in Lexa’s world of deep blues and grays. It warmed her from the inside knowing this eden came from Clarke’s fingertips, inevitably transforming something so bland and unused as an office into something so abstract and meaningful. Lexa looked at Clarke standing in the center of the room with her heart in her eyes and a smile on her lips._

_“You can come in, Lex.” Clarke’s voice beckoned her closer, stepping across the threshold and into the room the artist made her own. The smell of oils and charcoal filled her nose quickly, the strong scent of paint thinner knocking at the back of her eyes devilishly. She wasn’t entirely sure how Clarke managed to stay in here for so long, but as long as Clarke was happy, she was too._

_“Here,” Clarke said, offering an outstretched hand to the obviously nervous lawyer. Lexa took it, and felt herself being dragged closer to the tall wooden easel that sat in the center of the room. A canvas was held in its grasp with a palette littered with a wide range of colors sitting at its feet, balancing precariously on top of a few dirtied coffee mugs emptied of liquid._

_“Look,” Clarke ushered, drawing Lexa’s attention towards the large canvas in front of her instead of at the artist herself. Lexa felt a gasp in her throat as she drank in the painting with wide eyes, making Clarke blush profusely._

_“Clarke, it’s…” Lexa swallowed, tears welling in her eyes._

_On a canvas, painted with forest green and a hazy orange halo, was Lexa’s face reimagined as a warrior. She sat on a throne with her legs crossed, her spine straight and self-assured. Antlers and driftwood crafted her seat, spiraling up behind her like swords in the air. Her face was dyed with warpaint, dripping from her eyes like black honey. Her mouth was pursed in a thin line, saying nothing while her eyes commanded the room, speaking volumes in deep oceans of verdant stares. It was surreal and compelling, drawing Lexa closer to the piece with every new detail she found, such as the handled dagger strapped to her thigh and a feather tied into her hair. Her heart swelled with abandon as she saw Clarke’s initials thrown hastily at the bottom right corner, a gentle reminder of who saw her as an almighty being instead of the powerless girl she had been for years; the girl she fought so hard to conquer._

_“Do you like it?” Clarke asked hesitantly. Insecurity laced itself through her words like latticework and it shook Lexa from her silence in an instant._

_“I love it,” Lexa whispered, turning towards the artist with tears in her eyes. Within seconds, she wrapped a tender hand around the back of Clarke’s neck, pulling her closer and tangling their lips together in an intimate dance. Their mouths moved in rhythm, hearts fluttering wildly. She felt Clarke press a gentle hand to her hip under her sweatshirt, drawing tight circles with her thumb across exposed skin. It took everything she had not to moan at the touch, feeling her knees shake under the force of Clarke’s candied lips. Even after all this time, Clarke’s kisses still gave her butterflies._

_The artist broke away with a heavy breath, bringing much needed air back into her lungs as she balanced herself, never taking her hand away from Lexa’s heated skin._

_“So,” Lexa purred, resting her forehead against Clarke’s, brushing their noses together. “What did you want in return?”_

_She felt Clarke’s face contort into a sheepish smile, grinning at the breathless laugh that left the blonde’s lips in a haste._

_“You.”_

_Lexa was almost knocked backwards at the force of Clarke’s lips against hers, resuming what they started. She felt herself backing up, moving backwards with every step Clarke took forwards, until she felt her back collide with the wall behind her, shaking the frames that hung in the hallway on the other side. Lexa gasped, air tearing from her chest, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Clarke’s lips completely ravaged her and she could do nothing more than moan into her mouth helplessly. She felt her skin set ablaze, following the trail of embers Clarke had paved with her warm, urgent hands under her clothes. Dull nails scraped down her abdomen and Lexa gasped at the sensation, allowing an opportunity for Clarke to slip her tongue beside her own, effectively deepening the kiss until Lexa was drowning in it._

_She grasped helplessly for anything, palming the wall behind her for any kind of support but finding none. Clarke’s lips against her own set a fire ablaze in her chest, warming her bones and soothing her soul until the heat turned into a lust so powerful it threatened to ravage her from within. In one swooping, unexpected motion, she flipped them both, slamming Clarke into the wall still warmed by the shadow of her body. A gasp slipped through Clarke’s lips, a heady breath swirling around Lexa’s ears, making her melt into a puddle on the floor. She felt hands wrap around the hem of her sweatshirt, the artist whimpering desperately into her mouth; a silent plea to discard everything that kept their skin oceans apart. Always the one to please, Lexa nearly ripped the sweatshirt from her back, leaving her in a lacy black bra and large sweatpants rolled at the waist. The cool air nipped at her bare skin, but was no match for the blood boiling in her veins and the heat growing between her thighs as she pressed Clarke against the wall with heavy lips._

_Without thinking, she curled her fingers under Clarke’s thighs, lifting her into the air and encouraging her to wrap her legs around Lexa’s bare waist. With another shove against the wall and a strangled moan, Clarke obliged willingly while ripping the hair tie from Lexa’s hair, letting it fall down her back in chestnut waves instead._

_Channeling whatever strength she had left, Lexa separated their lips with a pitiful whimper, nearly sobbing at the loss. Instead of reconnecting them like every atom in her body begged her to do, she tightened her hold under Clarke’s legs, feeling as the blonde wrapped her arms across her shoulders protectively before they were moving back towards the bedroom. Clarke’s breath against her ear, raspy and strangled, made Lexa’s knees tremble. She set Clarke down on their bed before she collapsed and gave in to the throbbing tension coiling in her stomach._

_The artist inched her way to the center of the bed, watching Lexa with hungry eyes as she took off her own shirt, throwing it to the floor haphazardly. Lexa could only stare as creamy white skin was exposed to her desiring eyes, quickly snapping out of the haze clouding her mind when she watched Clarke reach for the waistband of her pajama bottoms. She lept into action, crawling her way up the bed until her entire body hovered over Clarke’s, settling her hips down on top of the blonde’s and effectively trapping her hands, forcing her to stop. Clarke looked at her expectantly, her blue eyes clouded with lust and catastrophic desires; it shook Lexa to her core._

_She could only smile at the girl wiggling beneath her, leaning in to press a loving kiss to her temple. She drew a line of kisses down Clarke’s cheek, painting a line of love and whispered devotion down the column of her neck, feeling the girl’s fluttering pulse beneath her lips. She nipped her way across Clarke’s collarbones, feeling a contented sigh tear itself through the girl’s chest at the feeling. Hands wrapped themselves around her hair, tugging their urgency at the base of her scalp. She smiled against alabaster skin, blatantly ignoring the silent command before moving lower with a speed even a tortoise could beat._

_As much as she loved to tease, Lexa truly just relished in the soft sounds escaping Clarke’s lips, raw and unhinged. Kissing her way down the artist’s body, she only felt awe as she laid atop of the girl thrown from the stars. The gasps she drew from the blonde were the keys to a paradise Lexa had begged at the diamond gates to live in for years before stumbling across the paint-covered gatekeeper at a coffee shop. The warmth from the skin against her lips sent her heart racing, eyes fluttering behind closed lids as she felt her hands shake at the power she held._

_Clarke wiggled her stomach under Lexa’s lips, a childish whimper slipping through her lips. She was desperate, and Lexa just smiled against the skin of the girl unraveling beneath her. In an act that could be construed as dominance but was only understood as love, Lexa wrapped slender fingers around Clarke’s wrists, pinning them to the pillow above her head._

_The land met the sea as she stared down into Clarke’s hungry eyes, beckoning her closer. With a tender smile, Lexa obliged, leaning down and pressing her lips to Clarke’s with a sigh. Warmth opened its wings and took flight in her chest, a rosebud of love blooming in her lungs. She never wanted to stop kissing her, never wanted to stop feeling this feeling. She felt at home._

_With a tentative movement, slow and calculated, Lexa inched her hands from Clarke’s wrists to her hands, entwining their fingers together. She squeezed Clarke’s hand, eyes never breaking from the oceans that effectively drowned her. She waited with bated breath, chest heaving with desire she tried to keep at bay, until she felt the reassuring squeeze from Clarke mirroring her own, their silent form of communication when words were too much to handle. It spoke its own language, something they kept between them at fundraisers and dinner parties. It whispered a simple promise to both of them without ever needing a voice._

_I’ve got you._

 

*****

 

A twitch of fingers and a squeeze of a hand pulled Lexa from a fitful sleep. It was an effective alarm clock, and Lexa’s eyes were open in an instant, still blurry from unshed tears. She scanned her surroundings quickly, pleading eyes landing on Clarke’s sleeping frame. She felt another twitch from the hand she held firm in her grasp.

“Clarke?” She whispered, as if the volume of her words would shatter the dream she so carefully saw laid out before her. Her voice was raspy, heavy with sleep she couldn’t seem to get. “Clarke, baby, wake up. Come on, Clarke, come back to me love.”

Lexa felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over again. _Gods,_ she was tired of crying. She squeezed Clarke’s hand, still taped and connected to what seemed like hundreds of machines.

She held her breath as eyelids fluttered restlessly. She felt her heart stop as heavy blue oceans contrasted against the white of the room. She felt her brain clouded with fog, dizzy with relief as Clarke took in the room around them, swallowing sharply at her obvious discomfort.

“Oh Clarke,” Lexa sobbed, bringing the girl’s hand up to her lips, pressing a slew of kisses across bruised knuckles. She was elated and flying higher than ever, her heart in the cosmos with her body still on earth. She felt Clarke’s pulse grow louder beneath her lips, letting her tears of remorse fall freely. “Clarke, I was so worried. I’m s-so sorry, I’m so-”

“Who are you?” Clarke’s voice was hoarse, her words cold and unfeeling. If Lexa was standing outside the room, she may have mistaken the voice as a robot’s. She felt her heart stop in her chest, her breath caught behind a barricade forming in her throat.

She brought her eyes to Clarke’s with a questioning glare, her eyes deep valleys of hurt at the way the words stung every inch of her skin.

It was then that Lexa realized, through the bleakness of blue eyes turned gray, that Clarke truly didn’t recognize her.

She felt her soul scream in agony as her mouth said nothing, feeling the heaviness of her entire world crash around her in three simple words. She crumbled under the weight, unable to prove her worth to Atlas, letting every emotion she felt toiling in her stomach flatten her.

All she could do was stare.

  
  



	3. Chapter Three

“It’s commonly called retrograde amnesia. Newer memories tend to go first but her older ones should stay. We’re not sure where her timeline picks up from, but we want to do some tests before we release her.”

Lexa barely heard the words spoken to her. They sounded like muffled chaos, her ears muting themselves to the world around her. She felt dizzy, dissociating from her body where she stood outside of Clarke’s hospital room. If she focused hard enough, she could almost feel her soul unbuckle itself from her bones and leave her body completely. 

Her arms were crossed over her stomach, a defense mechanism that never worked. No matter how tight she pressed her hands to the sides of her chest, it didn’t stop the words from leaving the doctor’s lips, pursed like they tasted something bitter. Maybe they had tasted Lexa’s heart, hardening like dry cement between her ribs. She needed time to process but was granted anything but that blessing. She felt like she was driving into traffic going the wrong way with both hands off the wheel. More than anything, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

“I’ll be back in a moment with Dr. Owens,” he said gruffly, pulling Lexa from her trance momentarily. “She specializes in amnesia cases, she should be able to help.” 

She watched as he turned on his heel and walked down the hallway, fast enough to spit dust behind him like a cartoon animal. Lexa couldn’t blame him; she didn’t want to be here either. 

With a deep breath, the lawyer sauntered back into the room, watching as a young nurse changed Clarke’s IV bag in silence. Lexa sat back down in her chair, now considerably further from the edge of Clarke’s bed in an attempt to distance themselves like the strangers they were. When the nurse finished, Clarke shot her a weak smile as a thank you before watching her leave the room with trained eyes, obviously desperate to look anywhere but at the shattered brunette beside her. 

The clock on the wall was the only sound that filled the room, as all the machines had been turned off when Clarke fully woke. It felt deafening to Lexa’s ears, a merciless reminder of the fact that they were both stuck in a perpetuated world of tragedy, yet both of them held very different definitions of the word. To Clarke, the tragedy was losing some of her memories and being bound to a hospital bed for another few hours with an aching arm and bruised knuckles. To Lexa, the tragedy was being forgotten by the person she could never _ imagine _ forgetting. Every so often, Lexa would catch a glimpse of how empty Clarke’s eyes were, only to look away in an instant; a cyclical hell created for herself. It broke her to see nothingness stare back at her. Every ounce of love and anger and sweetness and rage that had formed over the years they shared had been erased from the deep oceans of Clarke’s gaze, a blank slate decking Lexa across the jaw like a boxer in the ring. The room felt awkward and tense and Lexa nearly screamed at the way her skin itched, to both reach out and touch her girlfriend or sprint from the room entirely. Instead, Lexa curled her legs into her chest, settling her feet on the edge of her chair, wrapping her arms around her shins and resting her chin against her knee. Suddenly, the bathroom door became the most interesting thing in the world as she tried to distract herself from the steady breathing and beating heart next to her. 

Clarke cleared her throat, making Lexa nearly jump from her chair, not expecting anything to escape between welded lips. 

“Can you...can you grab a doctor or something?” Clarke asked, her voice sinking the ships of hope Lexa had cast out to sea. The connotation of her words didn’t go unnoticed, obvious to Lexa that the idea of being alone in a room with a stranger claiming to be her girlfriend scared Clarke more than the unfamiliar doctors did. Scrambling to collect the pieces of her heart before they fell into her stomach, Lexa nodded and extracted herself from the chair swiftly, practically running out of the room to find literally  _ anyone _ to help warm the iciness of their situation. 

She came across a doctor quicker than she expected to, huffing under her breath that it couldn’t have taken longer. Looking for someone else to occupy the room would have been the perfect escape from Clarke and the tundra they found themselves stranded in, an escape with sweetness she could almost taste. Yet instead, she stood in front of a doctor chatting away with the receptionists at the front desk, obviously ready to clock out at any time. As she approached, they quieted almost instantly, scanning her up and down and waiting for words to escape her. 

“Hi, my girl-” She stopped herself quickly, feeling the words turn sour on the back of her tongue. They felt wrong somehow, like trying to fit a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. “My  _ friend _ is in room 250 and she was wondering if she could talk to a doctor.”

Lexa turned the entirety of her attention to the brunette in a lab coat, watching as she nodded in affirmation, before leading both of them back to the room slower than what was acceptable for a woman with two perfectly working legs. The words in Lexa’s head spun around and around like a carousel with a broken brake. Last night, she had used the word  _ wife _ . It had felt comfortable, as if she had been using it for years. When each letter escaped her lips, they left love and honey dripping down her throat. It was sickeningly sweet and her chest had roared with the most intense feeling of adoration she had felt in months. Now, less than twenty four hours later, she had reduced Clarke to nothing but her friend. It wasn’t the name change that upset her the most. It wasn’t the movement from wife to girlfriend to friend in less than a day that crushed her lungs in a way that made it hard to breathe. It was the idea that she wasn’t entirely sure Clarke even saw her as that - as a _ friend _ . The idea that she was nothing to the girl she had moved mountains for contorted her heart into a gut-wrenching shape, twisting like an acrobat behind her ribcage.

Lexa reached a hand around the corner to knock against the open door, startling Clarke for only a moment. “I found a doctor,” she said, stepping aside to let the woman through. She felt the sadness in her fingertips as she watched Clarke’s face relax at the presence of someone else. The only thing she could do was sigh. 

“Clarke Griffin, age twenty five, in for…” The doctor scanned the chart that she held between perfectly-manicured fingertips, drawing a line with her index finger down the page until she found the ailment. “Ah, I see,” she smiled softly, flipping the pages back to their flattened position before clipping it to the foot of the bed. “Retrograde amnesia.” 

Lexa returned to her spot in the chair by the window, mirroring her earlier position by pulling her legs up to her chest defensively as she watched the interaction in silence. 

“Yeah, about that,” Clarke started, confusion littering her eyes like stardust. Lexa wanted to help, wanted to explain, wanted to hold her hand and promise that she could fix it all in a heartbeat. Yet she remained glued to her chair, her muscles tense and her bones heavier than lead. 

“Can I know what happened?”

The doctor sighed, obviously not thrilled that she was the one to explain every detail of the accident. She flicked her gaze towards Lexa momentarily, almost as if she were begging for help, though Lexa’s lips remaining drawn in a tight line. She recognized the nametag on the doctor’s coat, half muttering to herself in annoyance.  _ This _ was Doctor Owens, the one who supposedly specialized in amnesia cases yet couldn’t explain to someone how they got there in the first place. Lexa almost rolled her eyes until she heard Clarke’s voice.

“Look, I know everyone is skirting around what happened,” she muttered, her voice soft and tinted with annoyance that only served to make Lexa bite back a smile with sharp teeth. “But I want to know. I _ need _ to know.”

“You were in a car accident late last night, early this morning.” The doctor had conceded, returning to her practiced stoicism with a face made for patients much more agitated than Clarke. “We believe it to be a head-on collision with a drunk driver, effectively spinning your car into the nearest tree.”

Lexa watched helplessly as Clarke swallowed, looking anywhere but at the women in the room. She so desperately wanted to hold Clarke against her chest and explain everything, maybe in the warmth of their own home instead of in the bleakness of a hospital room. Maybe with tender kisses and melodic laughter that resonated through the rafters. Maybe with fuzzy socks and tea. 

“The police are currently trying to look for the person who did it, but they’re...they’re having a hard time.” The doctor brought her hands in front of her, wringing her fingers together in both nervousness and apology towards the woman with no memories and no hope of justice. “There...there were no witnesses.”

Clarke nodded, effectively quieting the doctor, hearing more than enough for now. Lexa turned her attention towards the hawks circling beneath the clouds outside to distract herself from the tears threatening to spill. She looked to the smoke billowing from the chimney of the hospital wing next door. She looked to the off-duty EMTs gathered around an ambulance on the ground, holding cups of coffee and laughing together. She looked to anything that distracted her from the girl breaking in the bed beside her. 

“Can I ask what you remember last?” The doctor’s voice broke the silence that nearly turned awkward, snapping both women from their own minds. Lexa watched as the doctor returned the clipboard to her hands, flipping through a few pages before settling on the one she needed, pulling the pen from her tight bun and clicking it with a sound far too loud for the quiet of the room. 

“Well,” Clarke started, looking towards Lexa for an instant before drawing her attention back towards her cast. If Lexa’s heart stopped beating, she chose not to notice. “The last thing I can clearly remember is...my college graduation.”

Lexa nearly gawked at the admission, feeling the air leave her lungs. That had been so long ago, far before they started dating. Lexa was still looking for a job until her sister referred her to a hot-shot firm downtown. Now, she sat in a hospital room with the woman she wanted to call her wife but only called her friend, with business cards of a company that carried her last name, and with a girl she loved more than anything else in the world who couldn’t even remember they had met. It all became too much too quickly, her mind a distorted vision of off-white thoughts tumbling around in her brain until they effectively became mush. She couldn’t tell if the ringing in her ears was from the monitors in the next room or from herself. 

Her legs begged to leave, her skin burning when she stayed put. She watched the scene in front of her with blood in her mouth when she bit her tongue too hard. They continued talking, though everything sounded like she was wearing headphones. Lexa could almost feel the sharp scratches the pen made against rough paper, could almost feel the breathy chuckle that left Clarke at a side swept joke the doctor made. She could feel everything except for her own heartbeat and the pulse in her veins. The idea that she would have to start over, that _ they  _ would have to start over, lodged a boulder in Lexa’s throat, effectively blocking her airways enough that she could blame her tears on that alone. 

“...in the meantime, we really recommend Clarke spend some time in a place that might jog her memories. By the looks of it, there’s a chance they could all come back within a few months to a year at the latest.” The doctor shot a quick grin Clarke’s way, and they both watched as the blonde relaxed her tense muscles at the idea that this might not be permanent. “We typically send them home with spouses, but since you don’t seem to be married…” she trailed off, double checking her charts while Lexa squirmed in her seat uncomfortably. Instead of speaking up, making a case for herself, she just added  _ not marrying Clarke sooner _ to the massive pile of regrets she had tumbling inside of her chest. 

“Right,” she concluded, after verifying they weren’t married - much to Lexa’s dismay - and setting the clipboard back at the foot of the bed. “Since you don’t seem to be married, we should go ahead and give your mother a call-”

“No!” Both girls shouted in unison, their voices tangling together like a choir. Clarke shot Lexa a look so cold it made her ears freeze. Lexa settled back into her chair sheepishly, a hot blush flooding her cheeks and painting them scarlet. Clarke turned her attention back towards the doctor when she was sure she effectively shut Lexa up for the time being. 

“Please,” she begged, her eyes only reflecting a redundancy of her words. She was pleading with every fiber of her being that her mother never hear of this. Clarke remembered why, as did Lexa, but the doctor was left in the shadows. 

With eyes wide in shock and lips tightened in confusion, the doctor nodded and cleared her throat. 

“Well, she should still be released somewhere she spent most of her time before the accident.” The words were directed at Lexa, shaking the brunette into focus as she watched the doctor turn towards her. Her eyes flicked to Clarke, watching as the lioness roared in her throat, eyes serving as the fire lighting a matchstick of frustration. Lexa swallowed at the ferocity the artist kept at bay. She understood why Clarke was so upset, probably knowing what Lexa was going to suggest next; she woke up in a bed that wasn’t her own with a girl she didn’t know kissing her, only for that girl to grow cold when her lack of memories became common knowledge. Lexa knew she wasn’t Clarke’s favorite person at the moment, and knew they got off to a rocky start. However, Lexa was anything if not determined, and she had set her mind to starting over with a mind clearer than water.

Tipping a chin up at Clarke, she turned her attention back to the doctor with a glint she knew was in her eyes. “She can come home with me. We live together, just outside the city.”

Not allowing Clarke a say in the matter - something Lexa was thankful for - the doctor nodded her head, got the address from Lexa to put in her file, and settled the situation in a matter of minutes. Lexa could feel Clarke’s eyes burning into her back as she stepped from the room, phone in her hand, ready to call Anya and ask for a ride home. 

“Hey, how is everything?” Anya’s voice crested over her, the sound of coming home after a long day. She took a sigh of relief after hearing her sister’s voice mixed with shuffling papers and closing doors; she was probably leaving a conference room in search for her office, or a more private space to talk. 

“Everything is...fine,” Lexa breathed, hesitating her answer. She hoped Anya wouldn’t notice. “She’s awake and alive, but…” She trailed off again, biting the inside of her cheek.

“But?”

“They said she has retrograde amnesia. All of her recent memories are gone, her brain is really just pulling from old archives at this point.” She looked back towards the room with an arm crossed over her chest, watching sadly as Clarke folded her hands in her lap and stared out the window. “She only remembers up until her college graduation.”

“College graduation? You guys weren’t together then, right?” The movement on the other end of the line stopped suddenly; Lexa obviously had her sister’s full attention now. She chuckled at the question, knowing full well that Anya knew the answer. 

“No, An. We weren’t.”

“Oh, Lex, I’m so sorr-”

“It’s okay, really.” Lexa interjected, not able to take the weight of pity that loomed over her like a stormcloud from everyone in her life. Everyone except Clarke. “Listen, they’re letting Clarke come home with me, but I need a ride.” 

She stared down at her feet, still in the same ripped socks she found the accident in. She looked around the corner, verifying that her unattended shoes were still tucked out of the way. 

“Of course, I’m on my way.” With a sudden click, the line died, and Lexa watched her call screen fade back into the image she kept as a lockscreen. She choked a sob back, tasting its jagged edges like glass when she remembered that it was a picture of her and Clarke on their first Thanksgiving together. Clarke’s eyes, like pools of spring water, gleamed in the warm glow of the fireplace behind her. Lexa had her head turned towards the artist in a trance fit for a hypnotist, watching her girlfriend with trained eyes and a matching smile on her lips. The anniversary of this picture had passed, their days steadily creeping towards December, but the memory still served as a blow to the chest that almost required a tap out. They were happy then, brimming with enough love to keep ships afloat. Their smiles mimicked Cheshire Cat grins and their eyes reflected hope for the future.  _ Whatever became of that hope? _

Lexa tucked her phone back into her pocket with a shaking head, trying to clear her mind before reentering the room. She walked towards the counter, finding a plastic bag with Clarke’s clothes perched on the edge. 

“Do you want to get dressed?” Lexa turned towards Clarke, holding the bag of clothes in her hand. Her voice snapped Clarke from whatever haze she was in, bringing her cornflower eyes to meet Lexa’s. 

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to get dressed. Anya is coming to pick us up,” she said, watching a million question fill Clarke’s eyes at her words. “She’ll be here soon,” she added as a side note, a hopeful encouragement to get Clarke out of bed and back into street clothes before her sister arrived. She wanted to leave this place as fast as she could, her skin itching to feel the warmth of her bedsheets and the comfort only a hot shower could bring. 

Clarke nodded, inching herself up into a sitting position before throwing her legs over the edge of the bed. She winced as her feet touched the cool tile below her, before standing on quivering legs. She moved with stiff muscles as she gained her balance, walking towards Lexa and taking the clothes from her grasp with a gentle hand, before pausing in mid air. Lexa looked towards her questioningly, and cherished her ability to breathe before Clarke brought her gaze up towards Lexa in thought. 

“Who is Anya?” she asked, her voice softer; butterfly kisses against Lexa’s ears instead of the scratch of panthers that came from her mouth earlier with words much more bitter and much more contradicting. 

“My sister,” Lexa answered with a voice that mirrored a mother’s. It was patient, a kindness she hadn’t heard in her own words in several months. It shocked her when she spoke, but she felt her heart flutter at the way Clarke nodded her head in thanks. She knew Clarke was struggling with the idea of knowing virtually nothing of her life, and it suddenly became Lexa’s driving duty to make sure Clarke always knew it was okay to ask questions from here on out. 

Clarke took her clothes and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door slowly behind her. Lexa heard the click of the lock and breathed a heavy sigh. 

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right,” she muttered to herself, running a hand through the hairs falling loose from her bun. A fire of determination was set ablaze in her chest. Her eyes reflected the prowess of warriors, adamant about her decisions. If they were going to start over, start from scratch with a blank slate, she was going to do it right this time. She would take the do-over she was granted with shaking hands and a firm nod. She would make an effort, remembering the feeling she got whenever Clarke walked down the stairs in a cocktail dress for dinner parties or whenever Clarke muttered nonsense in her sleep with drool in the corner of her lips. She remembered what it felt like to feel nothing more than butterflies create a home within her stomach at the mere idea of the artist she was so head-over-heels for. She was going to make Clarke fall in love with her again. 

 

*****

 

“So,” Anya started, gripping the steering wheel with knuckles whiter than the snow that fell from the thick clouds above them. The car was tense and thick with awkward silences followed by forced small talk. Even as Clarke sat in the back seat with her head against the window, an obvious sign of contentment in her own world, Anya clearly ignored any sign of discomfort her body language threw out. Lexa huffed at her sister’s driving need to fill every silence with some sort of noise, usually in the form of rambling words. 

“How is the firm holding up?” Lexa asked, drawing Anya’s attention away from Clarke and onto herself instead. If Clarke shot her a smile of thanks, she pretended not to see it. 

“It’s good. I wish I had that Wallace copy though.” Her voice was accusatory, though it had no right to be and they both knew it. The annotated copy of the Wallace case sat on her table at home, most likely stuck to a ring of coffee left uncleaned on the glass. It was the last thing she looked at before she went to bed, and it was the last thing in her mind as she raced towards Clarke with her heart as a guide. 

“Sorry,” Anya muttered as an apology before turning her attention back towards the road growing slicker with snow. 

“Really, Lex. It’s good. A little stressful, but everyone is on schedule to come in on time tomorrow and get right to work. I’ve had a few kids from Columbia email me about internships already.” 

Lexa was shocked, the eyes raising into her hairline a telltale sign. It made Anya chuckle under her breath. Word about their new firm opening had obviously gotten around. 

“Oh please, don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have been all over that in grad school. A chance to intern at an up and coming law firm? With two of the most powerful lawyers in New York, I might add? That has your twenty year old name written all over it,” Anya said with a pat to Lexa’s knee. “Besides, we could use the help anyway. I might set something up with the school in a week or two, after the stress of opening blows over.”

There was silence that wrapped itself around the car’s interior, seeping into the leather seats and growing vines around all three women. Lexa hummed along to a pop song on the radio, not processing the words with ears alert and directed towards any sound that could come from the backseat. 

“So you guys are lawyers?” Clarke asked suddenly, breaking the quiet like glass. Lexa turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Clarke’s questioning gaze. She shot the blonde a gentle smile. 

“Yeah, we are. We both went to Columbia. Anya graduated a few years before I did, though. We just opened our own law firm,” she answered matter-of-factly, slewing the words in an unending dialogue. She was giving Clarke as much information as she could, either out of nervousness or out of hope to jog her memory Lexa couldn’t tell. “Well, we’re  _ going _ to open. It opens tomorrow morning.”

Lexa watched as a gentle realization crested over Clarke’s face, her eyes shining a little brighter than before. 

“I was at Columbia for a while,” she said, unknowingly repeating the words she spoke on their first date, huddled in the corner of a dimly lit restaurant instead of the uncomfortable interior of an old Chevy Impala. Lexa only smiled at her sadly, feeling Anya return her vice-like grip on the wheel at the blonde’s words. 

“I know,” Lexa said kindly, the loving tone fit for poets weaving itself between her words yet again. 

Clarke nodded her understanding before turning her attention back towards the trees racing by in a blurred cacophony of orange and brown. The leaves were starting to die and fall as a chill took over the city, setting the world on fire with a heat you couldn’t feel. Lexa watched Clarke for a few moments, her gaze lingering on the slightly mussed hair, the gentle bow of her lips, the flutter of dark eyelashes casting shadows down her cheeks. She was a rare beauty, even in a perpetual state of tragedy. She captured Lexa like a siren without ever opening her mouth, and she had to force herself to look away before her ship collided into rocky shores. 

Lexa drew her attention out her own window, watching as the glass fogged with each puff of breath. Anya fiddled with the radio, settling on a station already playing Christmas music, turning the volume up far too loud and singing along giddily. Christmas had always been her favorite; Clarke’s as well. 

A quick movement shook Lexa from her daydreams, peering out from the corner of her eye to focus on the girl behind her inconspicuously. Clarke ran a hand through her tangled blonde locks before adjusting her blue bomber jacket, tugging the sleeves down past her cast and past her knuckles, tucking her fingers into the warmth they offered. With a sigh, she turned back towards the window for the upteenth time, obviously growing impatient with the lengthy drive. 

Lexa watched her in silence. As soon as she was about to turn away, Clarke’s lips began to move.  _ She was mouthing the words of the song. _ Lexa grinned like an idiot and Anya shot her a confused look. She shook her head in response, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she felt warmth bloom in her heart like a rose. 

“We’re here.” 

Anya pulled into the neighborhood slowly, abiding by the speed limit set at the entrance. The car crept towards the familiar driveway, settling itself just in front of the mailbox as Anya turned the key. The ignition rumbled to a stop, the warm air pulsing from the vents ceasing suddenly. Lexa unbuckled her seat belt, letting it snap into place behind her before opening her door quickly. Anya mirrored her and stepped from the car, though she kept the door open just enough to fit her body, resting her hand on the roof. She shot Lexa a glare, letting her know she wanted to talk. Lexa nodded her understanding but broke her gaze away when she heard Clarke step from the back. 

Lexa walked up the sidewalk to the front door, cresting the step to their porch before turning the knob in her hand. 

“Don’t you need a key?” Clarke asked, coming up behind her. Lexa opened the front door, feeling the warmth of the empty house hit her chest like the sun. It made her skin tingle where she stood out in the cold. She pushed the door open a bit more, offering Clarke a bit of space to cross the threshold into the house. 

“Yeah, usually I-” she paused, pulling the sleeves of Clarke’s sweatshirt down, folding her arms across her chest. “I usually lock it. I just...I left in a hurry.” 

Clarke didn’t press, and she thanked the gods that she didn’t. She was so tired that she was not past sinking to the porch step in tears if Clarke had asked any questions about last night. 

Clarke stepped into the house, her gaze akin to a child’s in a toy store. She drank everything in, eyes flickering over every detail, and Lexa watched in awe at the raw beauty that melted pursed lips into honey and concerned wrinkles into stained glass. A throat clearing from the driveway broke Lexa from her stupor, drawing her attention back towards her sister standing outside the car. 

“Um, you can go ahead and make yourself at home,” Lexa muttered under her breath, not entirely sure Clarke even heard her. She stepped from the porch, walking back down the sidewalk towards her sister, moving herself so close she could feel the heat radiating from beneath Anya’s jacket. 

“So how do you want to play this?” Anya asked, her breath coming in a fog against the chilly air. Lexa shook her head, staring down towards her feet, shuffling nervously under her sister’s pressing gaze. 

“I don’t know, An,” she answered honestly, keeping her voice low in case Clarke could hear from the open doorway. “I can’t be without her. I have to try something. Even if...even if she never gets them back, I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try.”

Anya’s eyes squinted slightly, unsure of the situation Lexa had laid out for herself. 

“If you didn’t try what, Lex? There’s a good chance she’s just gone.”

“Don’t say that,” Lexa growled, feeling a fire in her eyes as she watched her sister shoot her a silent apology. It was crossing a line they both knew had been drawn, and Anya retraced her steps. 

“Even if she remembers you in the end, how do you propose dealing with this? She doesn’t remember you  _ now _ , Lexa. I know it hurts to hear, but what if she just doesn’t feel the same way? She’s starting over, remember. Before you even existed to her. What if she doesn’t fall back in love with you?” Anya’s questions were valid but they stung like salted paper cuts on her heart. She knew there was a very real chance that Clarke could come out of this with an entirely different mindset. A mindset where Lexa existed as nothing more than a comforting friend and a shoulder to cry on. But she had to try. By god, did she have to try. 

“I need to start over, Anya,” Lexa said quietly, half to herself and half to her sister. “I have to. We weren’t...we weren’t in a good place, before the accident. I’ve been given a chance to try again.”

“You know life isn’t just some game, right? You won’t be given three more lives if this ends badly.” 

Lexa nodded, feeling snow settle in her chestnut locks. The bitter cold nipped at the back of her neck, iciness dripping down her spine. She looked back towards the warmth of the house, the house made warm only by the girl that sat inside. She nodded defiantly, tipping her chin at her older sister like a petulant child, making Anya bite back a grin. 

“I have to try. Even if she doesn’t fall back in love with me, I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try again.” 

Anya conceded, nodding her defeat with a huff of frustration. “Always so stubborn,” she said, patting Lexa’s shoulder good-heartedly. Lexa smiled at her, watching as her sister opened the door a bit more before stepping back inside. She rolled down the window after buckling herself in, starting the car as quickly as she could. 

“The office opens tomorrow at nine. I expect you to be there.” With that, Anya backed out of the driveway, leaving Lexa with a lungful of smog and a smile on her face. 

She walked back towards the house a victor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I know it hasn't been that long but it feels like a long time. The chapters will be a bit shorter from now on since there won't be as many flashbacks. They usually come in at around 9-14 pages.  
> As always, comments and kudos give me life and I read every single one. I've really enjoyed the comments on the last few chapters and I love hearing from you guys.  
> The next chapter will be all fluff, I promise.  
> Talk to me [here](https://hedadebnamcarey.tumblr.com/) if you want!


	4. Chapter Four

“Would you like something to eat?” Lexa called from the kitchen. The blonde was perched on the edge of the sofa, her posture mimicking an awkward family reunion. Her knees were pressed together tightly, hands folded in her lap. A curious gaze scanned across the living room, lingering over pictures and the titles of books that were scrawled across dusty spines in their bookshelf. Lexa smiled sadly at the girl before walking over towards the large island, resting her hand against the cool marble countertop. 

“Clarke?” She asked, pulling the girl from whatever daydream she had found herself in. Clarke looked to her with teal eyes and Lexa’s heart skipped in her chest. She cleared her throat before speaking, her desire to not make a fool of herself suddenly overwhelming. 

“Did you want something to eat?”

Clarke’s lips turned upwards at the corners, a smile playing on her lips. 

Lexa felt like it was her imagination playing tricks on her. She thought sleep deprivation had finally caught up to her, shackling her legs together and forcing her to accept whatever imagery it conjured in front of her eyes. She thought, for only a moment, that it was a trick of her mind. But with a short tip of her chin, a gentle nod as a silent answer, Lexa knew there was no way her imagination could even begin to capture the beauty of Clarke’s smile. The room suddenly felt too warm. 

Clarke lifted herself from the couch, making her way towards the empty stools that hugged the edge of the kitchen island, pulling off her bomber jacket and folding it over her arm before setting it on top of the counter. She quickly took a seat, pulling out a barstool and settling herself in, leaning her elbows on the cool stone with a gaze meant only for Lexa. It made the brunette flush and she dropped her gaze, desperate to look anywhere but at the blonde sitting pretty in front of her. 

“What are you hungry for?” Lexa asked, turning her attention towards the fridge, opening the door and scanning its contents. Neither of them really ate at home, their schedules too hectic and punishingly cruel to their normal mealtimes. Whenever Lexa stayed out late, she usually had Chinese delivered to the office - swiping Anya’s card to pay, of course - with an open bottle of whiskey from her mini fridge calling her name. She noticed that Clarke tended to scavenge, eating bits and pieces of whatever they had or making a quaint meal with few ingredients. Neither had time to grocery shop, nor did they really want to, thus leaving Lexa with a bare fridge and a hungry girl in their kitchen. 

“We don’t have much,” Lexa commented quietly, opening the door a bit more so Clarke could see. 

“That’s alright. I’m not _ that _ hungry.” 

Lexa turned, watching as Clarke looked anywhere but in her direction. It was strange, watching the girl who usually stood proud with a chin held towards the sky melt into a polite creature with a passive tone. Lexa knew it was because she wasn’t entirely comfortable in a house she didn’t recognize, though it didn’t fail to make her heart ache. 

Without thinking, Lexa reached into the fridge and pulled out a half-empty bottle of rose, chilled and sweet. She set it on the counter, watching as Clarke looked between her and the glass with hesitation in her eyes. With a kick of her foot, Lexa shut the fridge door and pulled her phone from her pocket, nestling it between both hands as she started to scroll. 

“How does pizza sound?” She asked, not bothering to wait for Clarke’s response before dialing the number to Terra & Mare. After their first date so long ago, Lexa had joined Clarke in becoming a frequent customer, maybe even to the point of being called a  _ regular _ . Though they didn’t normally make exceptions, Lexa knew she could get them to deliver if she played her cards right. She would play a million hands, however poor, if it resulted in Clarke’s happiness. 

“Lexa, really, it’s-”

“Pineapple and bacon, right?” Lexa asked, bringing the receiver up to her ear with a smile. If Clarke blushed, she pretended not to notice. The girl nodded as Lexa placed their order quickly. 

After hanging up the phone, she reached her hand into the cluttered drawer beside the deep farmhouse sink, wrapping her fingers around a corkscrew and pulling it out with a victorious huff. Clarke chuckled under her breath at the show of achievement Lexa put on after finding what she needed in the kitchen equivalent of Pandora’s Box, and the sound made Lexa grin like an idiot. 

With shaking hands, Lexa pulled two wine glasses from a cabinet before pouring them each a drink. She pushed a glass towards the blonde, watching as she wrapped slender fingers around the stem before lifting it up in a half-hearted cheers. Lexa shot her a smile before taking a sip, feeling the sweet liquid drip down her throat like an ember, blooming in her chest like a wildfire. It wrapped heat around her bones, warming her from the inside while serving to settle her nerves significantly. She was no alcoholic by any means, but the situation she found herself in made her want to drown herself in a stupor fit for Dionysus. 

Clarke turned in her stool, setting her feet back to the floor and walking from the island with Lexa’s eyes watching her every step. The artist drifted back into the living room with her wine glass still in hand. She moved close to the ashen fireplace dirtied with soot, running a finger over the brick exterior as she drank in the pictures lining the mantel. On the far left, in a gold-plated frame, sat an old Polaroid of the two of them at an amusement park. Lexa held blue cotton candy in her hand that melted into white, as the old fashioned camera had ripped most of the color from that afternoon. They were laughing together, sitting with shoulders touching on a bench beneath a rollercoaster. Lexa could still hear Anya yell at them to focus, even though she knew Lexa’s attention was moot; they all knew nothing could take her eyes away from Clarke. Not then, and certainly not now, recognizing the latter more and more as Lexa found herself watching Clarke move onto the next picture with a careful gaze and wine coating her mouth like liquid courage. 

The next picture was framed cheaply, a plastic black rim to an older picture. It was last year’s Christmas Eve dinner, and the table looked like it was ripped straight from a Good Housekeeping magazine. A tree dripping with icicle lights sat wedged in the corner of the picture with Anya’s gorgeous table front and center. A large ham sat in the middle, seemingly hundreds of dishes scattered around it. If she focused hard enough, Lexa could almost smell the spicy, sweet aroma of their mother’s pumpkin pie recipe Anya had perfected, sitting near the end of the table with a spiral of whipped cream in the center. In the picture, Lexa sat beside Clarke with a gentle hand on a pale knee bared by the short white dress that matched the snowy tablecloth Anya had insisted on. Lincoln sat across from them with an arm slung around Octavia, staring at the raven-haired girl like she was the only one in the room. 

“Tell me about this picture.” Clarke’s voice was quiet, a tentative hum in a room coated with absolute silence. Lexa walked towards where Clarke stood eyeing the photograph, reaching a finger out to brush along the frame. She stepped close to Clarke, feigning as if she were leaning in to get a better view of the picture she knew by heart. Instead, she just wanted a reason to press closer to the blonde, to feel her warmth against her skin again, to let the smell of her perfume envelop her in a tight grasp. If Clarke caught on to Lexa’s cheesy move, she didn’t say anything. Lexa fiddled with the wine glass in her hand, clearing her throat awkwardly when the sound of Clarke’s heartbeat flooded her ears, making it harder to focus on the story she tried to formulate in her head. 

“This was Christmas last year. It was our second Christmas together,” she started, scanning over the details of the picture with a smile. Clarke listened in silence. “We went over to Anya’s for dinner after you and I had opened gifts here. She always insists on making dinner, even though she isn’t a great cook.” The last part made Clarke smile and bite back laughter with a tight jaw, successful in making Lexa’s stomach knot. 

“Who is this?” Clarke asked, moving her finger to point towards the man ever so distracted by his girlfriend. Lexa smiled fondly. 

“That’s Lincoln,” she answered, bringing her glass back up to her lips while shoving her other hand into the pocket of her sweatpants. “He’s kind of like a brother to Anya and I. We grew up together. Our parents were friends, and he was pretty cool, so we decided to keep him.”

Clarke nudged Lexa’s side with her elbow, shooting her a smile with a tongue tucked between her teeth. It knocked Lexa breathless, feeling the air leave her lungs like a change in gravity. She felt herself floating, felt her feet lift from the wooden floorboards. Her mind shook itself blank in a matter of seconds, her head fuzzy with only the image of Clarke’s brilliant grin; a grin she hadn’t seen in months. All she could manage to do was smile back. 

Clarke moved to return to her place on the couch as Lexa fiddled with the fireplace, attempting to drown the room in light as the sun began to fade just outside their windows. She turned the gas, waiting until the interior was engulfed in gentle flames before joining the artist’s side. 

She settled in, curling her knees up towards her chest and leaning back against the armrest across from Clarke. It felt like there was an ocean between them, when really a quick movement of an outstretched leg would have their skin touching in seconds. Lexa took another sip of her wine, feeling it turn into gasoline in her mouth as it dripped fire down her throat. She couldn’t tell if her dizziness came from the liquid courage in her hand or from the steady heartbeat of the artist beside her, but it failed to make her feel focused and grounded nonetheless. 

“Do you mind answering questions?” Clarke asked, fiddling with the stem of her glass, picking at an imperfection she convinced herself she found within it. 

“No, of course not. Anything to help you remember, right?” Their eyes met for a moment as Lexa offered her a muted smile. Clarke nodded her agreement before quickly downing the rest of her glass in a way that made Lexa bite back laughter. 

“What would you like to know, Clarke?” The floor was open, the microphone unoccupied. Lexa shot a glance towards the clock on the wall, watching as the second hand ticked mercilessly. They had about ten minutes until the pizza would arrive, giving both of them plenty of time to numb themselves into oblivion with cheap drinks. 

Lexa moved from the couch with steps directed towards the kitchen, reaching back into the fridge to pull out two handfuls of Clarke’s favorite beer that she kept hidden - even though Lexa knew exactly where to find them. 

Clarke smiled at the girl when she sat back on the couch, setting the bottles on the coffee table and resuming her position with tucked knees and her glass of wine forgotten in favor of the dark beer in a cheap bottle.

“That’s my favorite kind,” Clarke commented, tilting her chin towards the label on the group of bottles sat before her. Lexa smiled at her before rolling up the sleeve of her sweatshirt. 

“I know. They’re yours.” 

With a quick motion, Lexa pressed the cap of the beer to her forearm with a pressure that could turn coal into diamonds. She twisted sharply, biting the corner of her lip in concentration until the top came off with a clinking sound. 

“So,” she started pridefully, watching as Clarke’s eyes drank her in with an impressed stare. Her little trick had worked. “What’s the first question?”

“Well, for starters,” Clarke began, clearing her throat and bringing her focus back. “Where on earth did you learn how to do that?” 

Lexa grinned, a spark of confidence lighting fires in her chest that even the flames of the fireplace would be jealous of. She had the girl’s undivided attention with just a simple college trick that Anya showed her in grad school, with nothing more than a smirk and a promise that it would make pretty girls swoon. Her fingers itched to call her sister and tell her she had been right. 

 

*****

 

“So you’re telling me that you’ve never seen Snow White?” Clarke’s laughter tangled itself through every corner of the living room, a sound meant only for angels. As Lexa heard the sound, earthy and unbarred, she became even more convinced that she had fallen in love with a god. 

“No, I haven’t,” she answered through long sips and voice shaking with humor. “Don’t tease, the witch scared me. Besides, Anya never let me watch it and at some point I got too old.”

“Too old? You’re never too old for Disney movies!” 

At some point during their conversation, they had found themselves on the floor, sitting on a wooly blanket with an open pizza box between them. Two or three empty bottles of beer laid around them, the scene coming straight from a college frat party. Lexa couldn’t be sure how much she had drank; she could only count on it being more than one if the sloshing warmth in her stomach had anything to say about it. Her eyes were fluttering with an overwhelming calm that flooded her bones, her head a bit hazy with the smell of Clarke surrounding her. She looked down towards the remaining few pieces of pizza, her stomach suddenly growling and ready for another slice. She picked it up, feeling it grow colder in her hands. With the pineapple carefully picked from every inch, she lifted the slice up to her mouth with a teasing grin fit for a child on her lips. 

“I still can’t believe you like this,” she commented, taking a bite. “Pineapple on pizza is not okay.”

“I’m sorry my pizza choices offend you,” Clarke giggled, taking another swig of her beer, the pizza long forgotten in her mind. She sat cross-legged across from Lexa, leaning her weight on an arm stretched out behind her, holding her upright as she relaxed her back without any support. 

“It doesn’t offend me, it’s just gross. Even after all these years, it never fails to amaze me that you think this” - she waved her hand towards the pizza box - “is good.” 

“How long have you known me?” Clarke asked, still nursing a half-empty bottle in her free hand, resting the base of it against her thigh. 

Lexa sobered suddenly, Clarke’s words an instant cure for her drunkenness. She was an honest drunk, and it usually got the best of her. However, in the past, every time she was unable to hold her tongue, Clarke had shushed her in public but rewarded her in private, whispering that a drunk Lexa was a sexy Lexa through hot kisses down her abdomen. It made Lexa’s throat swell at the memories that flooded her, knowing that the girl sitting in front of her would know none of that. Thus, she had to tread carefully. 

“Well, I’ve known you since my - our - first year at Columbia. You sat in front of me in intro to psych.”

“And?” Clarke urged, her eyes reflecting a million questions racing by like rocket ships. “Did I know you?”

“No, you didn’t,” Lexa said sadly, tipping her chin down towards her chest as she picked at the label on her bottle with dull nails capable of accomplishing nothing. She hated being reminded of her cowardice, knowing full well that had she been any braver, her and Clarke could be married with children by now. With Clarke’s memories now a jumbled mess, Lexa felt her regret stronger than ever.

“So what did you do?” The artist pressed, sensing an uncomfortable change in atmosphere but ignoring it obliviously. She wanted answers, that much was clear. 

“I...nothing. I did nothing.” The admittance was a harsh slap on a reflection of her past. The words created realization in her mind that there were many times where she did nothing, where she stood and watched from the sidelines; where she stood and watched their relationship crumble like dust over the years they were together without uttering a single word of courage. 

“Besides, you left that semester,” she continued suddenly, shaking her head in attempt to clear her thoughts; a futile attempt at best. “I never really forgot about you, but I moved on with my life. I graduated, passed the bar. Anya and I went to work together for a tiny little firm downtown.” The stories flowed from her lips like rivers, blaming her lovesick heart and her foggy head for the onslaught of words that overcompensated for her drunkenness. Clarke merely listened with open ears, absorbing everything she said. 

“When did we meet then?” She asked questioningly, her beer long forgotten and placed on the wood floor behind her. 

“We met in a coffee shop a few blocks from my old firm,” Lexa started with a smile that nearly reached her eyes. The butterflies in her stomach awoke with the memories of the day Clarke spilled coffee all over her, ruining her favorite button down. She kept the shirt for a keepsake more than anything, hanging it up behind all of her clothes in their closet as a gentle reminder of the day they met for the first time on mutual terms. 

“You spilled coffee all over me and would not stop apologizing, no matter how much I told you I didn’t care.” Clarke smiled at her words, attempting to paint the image behind her eyes for herself. Lexa watched in rapt fascination as the girl listened to her like she spoke scripture. Reciting the memories felt strange, as if she were explaining the colors of the sky to a blind man hoping to see it; she could imagine everything, every detail of that day, while Clarke could not. She wanted so badly for Clarke to remember the cheeky grin that grew with her confidence as she asked her on a date, her chest swelling with valor that made Lexa swoon. She wanted Clarke to remember the electricity that flowed through grazing fingertips as she passed along her business card to the calloused hands of the shaking artist, littered with coffee and freckles like stardust. She wanted Clarke to remember everything about that day, and a cotton plantation sprouted in her lungs from the seeds of knowing Clarke couldn’t remember any of it. 

“You didn’t know me, but I remembered you. I remembered you in a heartbeat.” Lexa’s voice was soft with remembrance and a tongue thick with love. She spoke only truth, thinking back to how her heart stuttered to a halt when she recognized the soft curve of Clarke’s high cheekbones and the swatches of paint across her chin. 

“Anyway,” she continued, clearing her throat and finishing her beer in a quick sip that burned her insides something hellish. “You asked me out to dinner and we went the next week. We started dating pretty soon after that.” The ending of the story was ushered, an attempt to draw the conversation to something else. The idea that Lexa remembered every detail, every press of sweet lips candied with young love, every baby hair that rained down from loose ponytails as Clarke painted, every sway of her hips as she walked down the stairs with heels higher than skyscrapers that sharpened every muscle in her legs into jagged edges, causing pools of desire to form deep in Lexa’s stomach; the idea that she remembered everything with eyes that saw the world in color, only to watch as Clarke stood with a vision left in grayscale - it all shoved needles into her heart like emotional acupuncture not even the beer could numb. 

“Are you tired?” Lexa’s voice was concerned, and it didn’t go unnoticed to either of them. Clarke smiled softly, stretching out her legs in front of her and wiggling her toes to bring the feeling back into them. As if on cue, a tiny yawn left her mouth, an unintentional squeak leaving her throat that made Lexa melt into the floor. 

“I guess I am,” Clarke chuckled, half to herself and half as an answer. “Maybe we should go to bed. We can talk more some other time.”

Lexa nodded in agreement, sinking into the sudden desire to crawl beneath satin sheets and unwind her taut muscles after the day she has had. She tucked her legs under her, rising to her feet in a motion she thought had been fluid, though coming from the laughs and the guiding hands Clarke placed out for her, she must’ve started swaying a bit to one side. 

“Easy there, tiger,” the artist muttered. Lexa shot her a half-assed glare as she balanced herself before walking towards the fireplace to turn it off. 

“Do you, uh...have any extra blankets or anything?” Clarke’s voice came from behind her, nervousness in every word. Lexa could tell she really didn’t want to ask for much, but the idea of sleeping on the couch with nothing more than the blanket they had laid out - now covered in pizza grease - obviously the driving force in the urge to ask her for something else. 

“Oh! Y-yeah, of course,” Lexa sputtered through the thickness of her drunken tongue.  _ Way to go _ , she thought to herself.  _ Your first night together and you already forgot to make her comfortable.  _

With a slipping mind and an expression contorted from embarrassment, Lexa turned away and moved down the hall, waving a hand and inviting Clarke to follow. 

“I’m just going to grab you some pajamas,” Lexa muttered under her breath, not entirely sure Clarke even heard her. She slipped into their bedroom, her lungs opening like the gates of heaven. She felt as if she could finally breathe, like she could finally gather herself and collect her thoughts. 

Clarke’s laughter made her dizzy and the self-sabotaging reminders of the accident made her heavy. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and cry to her heart’s content, away from piercing blue eyes and sunshine. She hadn’t been granted an opportunity to fully grieve the loss of the girl she planned to spend the rest of her life with, the shell of her being replaced by someone she barely knew. They both needed a night to process, to think about their relationship and the situation they found themselves thrown in, but the liquor only made her drowsy. 

With a shaking head, she moved towards the dresser, pulling out Clarke’s black pajama bottoms and a simple white tee with swatches of different shades of red lined down the center; Lexa had bought it for her on their third date, bringing her to the MoMA with twenty dollars in her pocket and a chest full of butterflies. Clarke had picked the shirt from the gift shop, running her fingers down the center, tracing her hand along the print. She had asked Lexa if she could have it with a childish plea and a pout on her lips, only half teasing the girl to get a souvenir. Without hesitation, Lexa had slipped the cashier her twenty dollar bill with a gaze never breaking from the astounded artist by her side. She would’ve been foolish to not grant her something so simple, especially when she would do anything to gift Clarke the world and a half. 

Lexa clutched the shirt in her hand, pulling it from the drawer only to hear a  _ thud _ quickly follow. With shaking fingers, she reached into the drawer with her other hand, feeling the soft velvet of the box she kept hidden. A sob nearly wrenched itself from her chest, though she swallowed it in her throat. A tear knocked at the corner of her eyelids, begging to be let out. Though she couldn’t bring herself to open the top, she was sure the diamond still looked stunning.

Her heart was heavy with a deeply rooted sadness, wrapping itself around her insides like the legs of a thick willow tree, leaves dripping like verdant tears. Not too long ago, Lexa was prepared to call the girl waiting in the hallway her wife. Now, she wasn’t even sure what they were to each other. 

A trembling breath left her lips as she shoved the box back in the drawer, swallowing hard as she turned to leave the room. The image of Clarke staring intently at the frames littering the walls met her quickly, and she paused to very self indulgently stare at the oblivious blonde before her. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she leaned against the doorframe, watching as the artist drew her eyes from one achievement to the next, reading every word like they held the keys to a treasure chest. She stopped on her diploma, biting the corner of her lower lip between her teeth in thought. Lexa cleared her throat. 

“Jesus,” Clarke gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin. She threw Lexa a smile of forgiveness with a hand over her heart. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. I have some different clothes for you, if you want to change?”

Clarke took the clothes from Lexa’s outstretched hand, folding the fabric over her arm and directing her eyes towards the closed door of the studio. She tipped her chin, urging Lexa’s gaze to follow her own. 

“What’s in there?” She asked, watching as Lexa sighed to herself before answering. 

“That,” she replied, pointing a finger towards the door. “That is your studio. Well, it was a study until we made it yours.” The  _ we _ tasted bitter on her tongue.  _ She _ had been the one to surprise Clarke with every amenity she could think of, making the room a perfect place for splattered paint and stiff brushes. She draped curtains over the windows and laid sheets across the furniture, bringing out Clarke’s old eisel she had packed away and the stool she bought for the young artist. She remembered how Clarke squealed with excitement, pulling Lexa into a hug so tight it knocked her breathless. She had watched as Clarke examined every detail, her mouth running a mile a minute with incessant babbles of where she was going to put what. 

The girl that stood in front of her now didn’t even know that room existed. 

“Am I allowed in?” Clarke asked, snapping Lexa from a daydream more vivid as she grew tired. 

“Of course, it is yours after all.”

Lexa turned the handle, opening the door and inhaling a cloud of paint thinner mixed with the heady scent of thick oil and stale coffee from three separate mugs. 

Clarke drank in the room with a heavy gaze meant for wonderers, sifting her eyes over unfinished canvases and sheets dirtied with color. She stepped across the threshold cautiously, as though there was something in the room that scared easily. As she entered, she ran her hand along discarded paintings that were laid against the wall, a frown on her face in disappointment they weren’t finished. She curled her fingers into fists, an obvious sign that she was trying to avoid touching everything she could, or even finishing every painting right then and there. Lexa smiled at her sadly, leaning against the doorframe, folding her arms across her chest protectively. 

The artist took her place on the stool, staring at the canvas propped upright in the arms of the easel. She folded her hands in her lap, picking at the skin around her thumbnail. 

“What?” Lexa asked, concern swelling in her chest as she watched the girl she loved sit with furrowed brows and an unwavering gaze. Her voice drew Clarke from whatever trance she had found herself in, oceans meeting the earth as she turned to look at the lawyer with turmoil in her eyes. 

“It’s all...just so dark.” 

“What do you mean, Clarke?” 

The blonde paused, looking around the room and then staring back at the image in front of her. 

“This,” she said, waving her hand. “There aren’t any colors. It’s all just so, I don’t know...blue? Like, there aren’t any bright colors. I usually paint with bright colors.”

Lexa sighed, turning her gaze to her feet and squeezing her arms around her middle. She bit the inside of her cheek for a moment, feeling Clarke’s words settle heavy like a rock in her stomach. 

“I wouldn’t know,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “You never really let me in here.”

Clarke looked at her, obviously surprised. Something convinced her to stay silent; whether it be her own shock at the idea of there being a version of her that was stingy with her artwork or the sheer amount of sadness that blanketed the lawyer’s face, Lexa wasn’t sure. Instead, she just shook her head and rose from the stool. 

“So where can I find those blankets?” 

Lexa looked up at her with tentative eyes, swallowing deep in her throat. The idea of Clarke going back to that couch, sleeping in the living room as Lexa slept soundly in her bed -  _ their _ bed - made bile rise in her throat. The words of last night circled around in her head like a swarm of vultures, waiting to pick at the remains of her love with beaks sharpened like knives. 

“I’ll take the couch,” she reassured, stepping aside to let Clarke out of the studio before shutting the door again. “You can sleep in our room.”

“Really, I don’t mind. The couch is fine.”

“I’m serious, Clarke. Take the bed. You’ll sleep a lot better, and you need rest.”

The artist looked at her with glitter in her eyes and a playful smile against her lips. Lexa felt her heart swoon, a fluttery feeling in her chest growing at the words that left her mouth. She would have never said those words months ago, or even a few weeks ago if she was being honest. She was not necessarily selfless, finding it hard to put others before herself in any situation. Her stubbornness used to be endearing to Clarke, playful pouts earning elbow jabs and a gentle kiss to her lips with a soft “ _ jerk”  _ whispered into her ears. It had started to grate on her girlfriend over the course of some time, turning playful banter into flustered defeats with Clarke throwing her hands in the air and walking away from the situation completely. Now, as Clarke stood in front of her with a tender smile meant for private eyes and open hearts, Lexa felt the petals of a selfless nature bloom within her chest. She was given an opportunity to start their relationship over; she was not about to throw it away on the first night. 

Clarke nodded her consent, a white flag hanging in her eyes as she walked towards the bedroom door. With a hand on the door handle, she paused, turning to face Lexa who stood marbled in the hallway. 

“Lexa?” She asked, her voice softer than velvet. 

“Yes?”

“Thank you. It means a lot that you were there this morning. I-I’m sorry if I made you think it didn’t.” 

Clarke smiled at her with a sadness in her eyes, her tongue spewing connotations of deep-rooted apologies. She was genuine, showing it with everything she had, and Lexa could almost taste it. 

“Of course, Clarke. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Clarke slipped into the darkness of the bedroom, the pale hand wrapped around the doorframe curling into nothing as it followed her into the room. With a turn of her heel and a chest void of breath, Lexa moved to the couch, pushing off empty bottles and settling in against the white cushions. She didn’t bother with a blanket; she knew she wouldn’t be getting any decent sleep with the tsunami of thoughts she had crashing in her brain. 

She brought her thumb to her mouth, chewing absentmindedly on the nail bed as she looked out the window in a haze. Determination roared something powerful within her, and she could feel it with every beat of her heart. The journey would be long, but she was given another chance; she had to do something with it. 

Closing her eyes, the image of Clarke laughing childishly painted itself behind her eyelids, so real she could almost hear it. She smiled as the sound relaxed her bones, sinking further into the couch. Her brain was muddied and thick with wisps of blonde hair and chapped pink lips. She couldn’t fathom thinking of anything else in the world as she tried to force her body to get some rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments on the last chapter! We're getting into fluffier stuff now, hope you guys like it.  
> Kudos and comments keep me breathing so don't be shy!  
> Come ask me questions and talk to me [here](https://hedadebnamcarey.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter Five

Lexa ran stiff fingers through her hair, tugging lightly on the strands at the base of her scalp in frustration. She huffed a deep sigh, resting both elbows on the mahogany desk before putting her face between her hands. Outside her door sat a world of problems she didn’t even know how to begin fixing. Through the opaque glass, she saw shadows of employees scurrying by frantically and heard the roaring shouts of her sister, who was quickly approaching. With a breath held in her throat, Lexa lifted her head from her hands at the same time the brunette barreled through the door, a breeze from the action catching the corners of the papers held in a tight grip. She shut it behind her with a hip bump as she attempted to flatten down the wispy hairs that had come undone from her tight ponytail with a free hand. With determination and exhaustion settled deep within her eyes, the height of her cheekbones seemed even more extreme, able to slice through the very core of the earth. 

“Bad day?” Lexa asked, gesturing a hand towards the chairs situated in front of her desk. 

Anya shot her a glare with a strength capable of making even the mightiest of Spartans fall to their knees, settling herself into the leather upholstery and sinking like a rock. She set the paperwork in her hand on the edge of Lexa’s desk before throwing her arms over the armrests, stretching her legs out in front of her in a most unladylike fashion. 

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Lexa nodded, shifting the papers so they wouldn’t fall, before turning her attention back towards the cluster of emails on her screen. A few quiet clicks filled the room, working diligently as Anya focused solely on trying to relax the tension coiling around her bones. 

“How is Clarke doing?” she asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “I feel like I haven’t heard about her in months.”

Lexa smiled, her gaze trained on words that blurred together at the thought of Clarke. Important emails be damned; just the mention of the girl had her head spinning in such a way that she had to close out the tab entirely. 

“An, she’s only been home about two weeks.”

“So? I never hear about her anymore, I wanna know what’s going on. How is she doing? Any progress so far?”

Lexa settled back into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and locking her ankles together beneath the desk. 

“She’s okay. She doesn’t have much back, but I haven’t given up hope.” She flicked her eyes towards the candid photo of her and Clarke that sat proudly on her desk, forest green tracing the curves of the blonde’s beautiful smile as she bit back her own. “I’m still hoping she’ll come around.”

Anya nodded, leaning forwards and resting her arms along the edge of the desk, settling her chin on top of them. She mirrored a teenager with ears trained for gossip, her unabashed posture behind closed doors a well deserved break from the fiery composure she held against her employees. Lexa smiled at her sister’s foolishness, watching as Anya waggled her eyebrows and settled further into her own arms, her spine a perfect curve.

“How is her therapy going?”

“It’s...going. I think she likes it. I mean, we don’t really discuss what goes on for privacy, but she’s made a friend. Raven, I think.” 

Over the course of a week or so, Clarke had been introduced to group therapy by her doctor. It was good for her, allowing the girl to interact with people in a similar position. From how it was described to her, Lexa knew the group was for victims of accidents, such as Clarke. She wasn’t granted much information, but she knew it held a fair amount of car crash survivors, making Clarke feel more comfortable with her own story. 

Every other day, Lexa would pick her up at seven o’clock from the old church building, refurbished and barren on the outside. Clarke would hop giddily into the passenger seat and ramble about what happened as much as she could, talking with wild hands as she retold a funny joke Raven had jibed or spoke about the tiny fragments of her memory that came back sometime during the day. Lexa listened intently, swearing stubbornly she did. Yet she couldn’t help her eyes from scanning over the bouncing girl beside her, watching her instead of the road, tracing the curve of her nose and the lines of laughter that sketched themselves around her eyes. She swore she heard every word the girl said, even as her mouth grew dry at the image of Clarke wetting her lips between breaths. Even as her heart fluttered like mad behind the binds of her ribcage. Even as her palms grew sweaty against the steering wheel as Clarke sang along with the radio animatedly, growing more and more comfortable in Lexa’s presence as time went on. Even as the artist’s words muffled themselves in her ears like a pillow being held around her head, the vision of pure sunshine resting beside her a blinding distraction, she swore she heard every word. 

“Has anything significant come back yet? Does she remember you before the accident?” 

Lexa sighed at the nagging of her sister, the sharp-eyed brunette a derailed train of questions with no stop in sight. Lifting herself from her chair, Lexa moved across the room to open the door for Anya, forcing the girl to straighten instantly in her seat. She purposefully ignored the pout that sat proudly on her sister’s face, watching as the girl stood with rested legs and sulked over to the door. 

“Do I really have to leave?” She asked. Though the eldest, she looked to Lexa with childish eyes that begged to procrastinate her work a little longer. Lexa chuckled softly.

“Yes, you do. You have cases to examine and people to call,” she said, her voice firm but loving as she spoke. Anya smiled with the corner of her lips, squeezing Lexa’s hand as she walked from the room, back into the bustle of the hall. 

“And get these people under control!” Lexa shouted after her, tired of listening to the constant distress of their young employees. She briefly wondered if it were possible to have a hangover without a single drop of liquor. Judging by the pounding headache looming ominously behind her left eye, the answer was yes. Based on science, however…

A buzzing came from her desk. Her phone, facedown against the wood, vibrated incessantly with the ringer turned off, desperate to get Lexa’s attention despite the inhibition. 

With careful steps, she moved back behind her desk, picking up the device and turning it around in her hand. The brilliant blue of Clarke’s eyes met her, the picture she had set for the girl’s contact lighting up her screen with a bold  _ ‘Clarke Woods’ _ settled at the top. She rolled her eyes at herself, fixing to change the name back as soon as she could. It had been like that for some time without notice, only due to the fact that Clarke rarely contacted her anymore. Once Clarke had realized that Lexa would never answer her phone, she stopped calling and texting her girlfriend completely. Lexa knew she was bad at answering, especially when she was stuck at work late into the night or in a laughing fit only her sister could throw her in. This time, however, was different. 

With greedy hands, Lexa swiped up to answer the call as quickly as she could, a determination to answer every call and every message from here on out set ablaze within her. 

“Clarke?” There was rustling on the other end of the phone, almost loud enough to hurt her ears. When she was met without a verbal answer, she grew confused, her stomach beginning to knot itself prematurely. 

“Hey,” came a soft voice, settling Lexa’s nerves with the warmth of a fire. She sighed her relief at the sound. 

“Hi,” she hummed, moving to stare out the wall-length window behind her desk chair, watching the cars below disguise themselves as ants against the road. 

“When are you coming home?” The voice was sullen, deadpan at best. 

“Not until six, maybe six thirty. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I..nothing. It’s nothing.” A breathy laugh, a sad sigh. “I shouldn’t have called.” 

The rustling on the other end returned, making Lexa’s breath catch in her throat at the idea of the call disconnecting. 

“Clarke, wait,” she said quickly, eyes wide as she listened for the girl. 

“Yeah?”

“Tell me what’s going on. Do you need me to come home?” She was the ‘ _ commander _ ’ as they called her around the firm. The boss, the leader, the lighthouse. If she wanted to leave, she could slip away without anyone batting an eye. It took her years to build this idea from the ground up, they had no right to question her anyway. 

“No, it’s okay. It...it’s just...well, my mom called.” The voice was clipped and half-hearted, a stark contrast against the Clarke that had slowly bloomed within their home in the spring of her new beginning. It nearly shattered Lexa completely. The mention of Abby Griffin made her spine stiffer than a flagpole. 

“I’m coming home. I’ll be there in twenty.”

With a quick flick of her thumb, the call ended, and Lexa scrambled to pack what little she had into her purse. 

Tucking a folder under her arm as she took the keys from her bag, Lexa locked the door to her office and set herself a quick pace as she moved down the stairs to the building’s lobby. With a last look towards her sister, staring at her confused and stammering at the front desk, she moved through the revolving doors and took off towards her car. 

 

*****

 

The kitchen was empty and the living room cold when Lexa entered the house. The pillows held shadows of a person, caved and used but left stagnant on the couch. There was a bowl in the sink and a barstool slightly unaligned from the rest, a tiny detail that would go unnoticed to anyone except for the perfectionist that stood confused in the dining room. 

“Clarke?” she called, her voice echoing to the a-framed ceiling, words tangling against the glass of the chandelier above and swaying through the room in search of open ears. When no response came, curiosity nipped at Lexa’s heels, pulling her down the hallway. 

When she reached the middle of the hall, she paused, seeing a light illuminated through the crack in the partly opened door. The stench of paint thinner was no match for barriers, escaping in devilish wisps out into the hallway and biting at her nose. Without seeing her, Lexa knew Clarke was in the studio again. 

With a gentle push of her fingers, the door opened, the sight greeting her shoving cotton down her throat. 

Clarke sat on the stool, legs dangling over the edge like a child on a dock, toes barely skimming the floorboards. Her shoulders were hunched, a perfect curve through the notches of her spine. A paintbrush was cradled in the hands she held limply in her lap, the canvas in front of her devoid of progress. With deadened eyes, more gray than blue, she turned her gaze to meet the lawyer looming tight-lipped in the doorway. 

“I forgot how to paint,” she said sadly, her voice a music box of fragility. Her eyes sparkled with tears that edged towards the crest of her eyelids, begging to fall. It made Lexa’s chest ache in a way that took her breath away, bringing a hand to her sternum to rub nervously at her heart as if it could ease the pain she felt. The flowers that had bloomed through Clarke’s smile over the few weeks were snipped prematurely, leaving bare stalks where petals should be. 

“I mean...I didn’t forget, I just...I can’t feel it,” she explained, words heavy in the air. Lexa stared at the shell of an artist, splintered and jagged like a vase thrown in a fit of rage. She swallowed sharply, wanting to dislodge the lump in her throat as her skin itched to hold Clarke against her. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, her voice cracked slightly. If Clarke noticed, she paid no mind. 

“I have no inspiration. No muse. I can usually pump out pieces like it’s nobody’s business but now...now I can’t see anything. My mind is just...blank.”

Lexa knew the drive Clarke mentioned. She had seen Clarke in her best moments, a flurry of rapid strokes and paint-littered cheeks; eyes always bleary with tiredness while her heart pumped ferociously against her ribs, encouraging her to stay awake until she finished. Lexa had seen Clarke brush off a kiss to her head in trained focus, had seen her beg and plead to stay up just a bit longer with promises of a waterfall of kisses to make up for sleeping alone. Lexa always obliged, seeing sparks of creativity and determination in Clarke’s eyes; she would go without kisses for the rest of her life if it meant Clarke could create with ease. 

The girl that sat before her was a stranger, a coy shapeshifter in the house they shared. Lexa had never seen Clarke with so much sadness, so much raw disappointment in herself, and it completely shattered her as she leaned against the doorframe with green eyes shouting her pity. Seeing Clarke in pain cut her deep enough to reach bone. 

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

Clarke perked up, flicking her gaze back to Lexa with a questioning look. 

“Go somewhere?”

“Yeah, go somewhere. It might be good to get out of the house for a while. I know I’ve left you alone the past few days.” As painful as it was, it was true. Lexa had been trying to help Anya get caught up at the firm, spending most of her days there which left Clarke alone in an empty house unrecognizable in her memories. It was cruel and unfair, and Lexa knew it without being reminded. It was the same thing that drove a wrench through their relationship the first time around. 

“It’s okay Lex, you’ve been working,” she said, shaking her head as she brushed off the lawyer’s absence. The irony was not lost on Lexa, grinding her jaw at the words. Clarke had said that before as well, long before their relationship turned to shit. She would not throw away her second chance, not like this. 

“It’s not. I should be here, be with you more,” she pressed, moving further into the studio and crossing the room to stand beside Clarke’s sitting figure. She reached out a hand, palm upturned towards the sky. 

“Let’s go. I know a place.”

With a soft smile warmer than the sun, Clarke’s eyes turned from gray to blue as she took Lexa’s hand and stood by her side. 

 

*****

 

“What is this?” 

Lexa pulled the car to the curb, hugging the cement that separated the road from the sidewalk. She put the car in park, unbuckling her seatbelt and flashing Clarke a smile from the driver’s seat. 

“You’ll see,” she grinned, stepping from the car and into the bitter cold. The hustle and bustle around them was maddening, the sounds rattling around in her ears. Cars honked angrily, people screaming at each other from windows rolled down as traffic halted downtown. Voices shared only parts of conversations as they walked down the sidewalk, speaking to someone on the phone. Music played from department store speakers, a static cacophony of Christmas music playing far too early for Lexa’s taste; they still had three weeks yet. 

Steam billowed out from taxi engines, lights danced over their heads, and the city erupted into a mad world of overstimulation. It was not unusual for this time of day, as everyone left work at the same time, though it never failed to make Lexa tense beneath her skin. 

As quickly as she could, Lexa moved to the passenger side of the car, opening the door before Clarke could even wrap a finger around the handle. The blush of ivory cheeks and the rise of tight lips at the gentlewomanly action made Lexa’s heart stutter in her chest. 

Stepping aside, Lexa pulled the door open further, allowing Clarke to step from the car and stretch her legs with blue eyes frantically drinking in the city around them. 

“Are you going to tell me why we’re downtown?” Clarke asked, repositioning her white beanie before tucking her glove-covered hands back into her coat pockets. Blonde curls licked the edges of her hat, cascading in a waterfall of sunshine over her shoulders and down her back. Lexa would swoon at the sight if she wasn’t already so breathless. She blamed the cold for the blush in her cheeks she knew was blatantly obvious. 

“You’ll see!” Lexa reiterated giddily, locking the car and ushering Clarke to follow her. With a stride in her step, she weaved between people with polite “excuse me’s” and walked the half-block to their destination with Clarke trailing her closely. They stood in front of a stark white building, whiter than the snow that fell around them like ash from a fire. It had no decorations and no obvious markings, a nameless building in the swarm of New York City capitalism. It was a rare sight, making it stand out against the others that surrounded it. It had been done on purpose, Lexa knew, but Clarke stood curiously by the lawyer’s side with eyes scanning up and down in search of some sort of hint. 

“Do you want to go in?” Lexa’s voice broke the blonde’s concentration, their eyes meeting suddenly. With a toothy grin, Clarke nodded in determination, desperate to explore inside the strange building. With shaking fingers, Lexa walked towards the sheer glass door with keys tight in her hand. With a swift click, the door unlocked, and she pulled it open to let Clarke cross the threshold. 

Compared to what settled outside, the air that hit her as she entered was clean and refreshing. Inside sat an open space, a large square room with a section of wall in the center, detached from everything else. The paint that covered them was nearly as white as the exterior, the floorboards made from pale oakwood. An echo rattled around them as they moved pass the entrance, the sound of Clarke’s short heels nearly deafening as she stepped forward. Lexa closed the door behind her, standing back to watch as Clarke’s gaze fluttered over every corner and every inch of the room she could see. 

“Do I have to ask again?” 

Lexa smiled at her as she turned around with an eyebrow upturned. Clarke looked at her questioningly, taking her hands from her pocket and removing her gloves finger by finger. She stuffed the wool into her coat, taking off her beanie to join them. A stray hair, made unruly by the thick hat she wore, curled slightly into her face; Lexa’s fingers itched to tuck it behind her ear, a burning in her fingertips making her rub her hands together instead. She cleared her throat, the sound thundering in the vast emptiness of the room. 

“No, I won’t make you guess,” she blushed, walking closer to the artist. “This,” she gestured around them, “is your gallery.”

“My...what?”

“Your gallery. You bought it a few months after we started dating. You finished paying your student loans with the money you made from commissioned work and you bought the space the instant you saw it.” Lexa moved through the room, feeling as Clarke’s eyes locked onto her every step. She waltzed through the open space, fingers dancing along the empty walls begging for artwork to adorn them. A gallery had always been Clarke’s dream, and she can remember every detail of the day Clarke bought the building; she had been the one to help her pick it out. 

With a coy smile fit for a fox, Lexa moved behind the disconnected wall in the center, the fingers that were wrapped around the edge disappearing, only for her to poke her head out on the other side. Her playful nature ripped a giggle from Clarke, a genuine sound meant for angels. 

She smiled at her accomplishment before moving in front of the wall and seating herself against it, her spine meeting the hard surface behind her. She patted the floor beside her, offering Clarke to join her on the ground. The artist looked to Lexa with soft eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips like strings on a puppet. When she sat by Lexa’s side, close enough to share a breath, Lexa felt her stomach toss and roll in somersaults. Their shoulders brushed and Lexa felt the air in her chest catch in her throat. If Clarke could hear the wild thumping of her heart, she didn’t show it. Instead, she sat with Lexa on the floor; shoulder to shoulder with her knees pulled up to her chest, hands in her lap, eyes fixed out the large window to the falling snow outside. A piece of Lexa burned to reach out and hold her hand; she chose to pick at her fingernails instead, a terrible habit she thought she had broken. 

“Do you want to talk about today?” Her voice was quiet and soft, as if speaking with the boldness it usually carried would shatter Clarke into a million pieces. Clarke sighed beside her, settling her muscles and lowering her shoulders, pressing harder into Lexa’s side. It was enough to make her head spin. 

“Someone from group knows my mom. He apparently called and told her why I was there.”

“How did he know it was you? You’re not supposed to share last names, right?”

Clarke’s jaw tensed so hard Lexa was worried her teeth would grind to dust. Her eyes remained glued to the window, watching the people pass by through tinted glass. While she was determined to look anywhere but at Lexa, the lawyer couldn’t say the same. 

With green eyes trained on the girl at her side, she drank in the sight of Clarke nestled so close to her, intent on ingraining every detail into her memory in case they never got this chance again; a very real possibility. Every freckle that the gods had scattered across her nose like stardust, every crease in troubled brows pulled tight, every splash of gold that accented her cornflower eyes - she studied it all with greed, a thirst growing deep inside of her. 

“Yeah,” Clarke continued with a heavy breath, a sarcastic laugh tumbling out with it. “He recognized me from a few pictures she had. They used to work together in the hospital. I mean, before she moved to Colorado.” Lexa nodded knowingly, shifting her weight and pulling up her knees to mirror Clarke. How thankful they had been when she made that move. 

Abby Griffin made poor decisions and cared very little about the happiness of her only child. That much was clear. She was a doctor destined for greatness, a certain stridency about her forming a successful career as the years went on; she was not bashful about wanting the same for Clarke. With promises of money and support, she sent Clarke off to Columbia with a quick kiss and a stern look, urging Clarke to try her best and excel wherever she could. 

Clarke went to Columbia for medical school, starting at lower level courses with her focus on the prestigious med program they offered her with open palms. She studied tirelessly, her mother pumping her with every resource she could possibly need; anything to make her daughter a doctor. 

Halfway through the first semester, she began to stumble, tripping over her heavy workload and her disinterest in medicine like they were shoelaces stretched beneath her feet. She burned out quickly, reaching the end of her wick, and by the end of the first semester she had dropped out of school entirely. Lexa remembered the day Clarke stopped coming to class, her seat empty and cold; only the memory of a golden child remained. The clever girl destined for servitude in the form of medical devotion no longer reflected herself in Clarke’s mirror every morning. Instead, she chose the path of an artist, wanting a life filled with color and creativity instead. It was a bold leap, a sharp difference between right and left brain, and Abby wouldn’t stand for it. 

With thieving fingers, she snatched the money from Clarke’s college fund so fast the blonde had no breath left to recover from the blow. It was a punishment that fit the crime: she would not pay for any daughter of hers to follow a path as undesirable, as insufficient as an artist’s. 

For years, Clarke was forced to do anything she could to afford her classes at possibly one of  _ the most _ prestigious art school in New York. With hair pulled up in tight ponytails, feet run ragged in cheap shoes and a knot in her back that seemed to never untie, Clarke waited tables and served drinks at skeezy bars, trading a lithe voice and tempting cleavage for tips; a siren luring captains to their death.

After some time, she swapped her apron and pens for paint brushes and canvases, stacked miles high in the tiny dorm that she shared with no one. She worked solely on commissioned art, watching hungrily as the number in her bank account grew with every brushstroke. She had found her calling, made a living out of it, and she would be damned if she failed. 

Since pulling her support, Abby stayed out of Clarke’s life; so much so that not even breaths were shared over the phone during the holidays. Clarke was thankful, as was Lexa; she had been the one to help Clarke pick up the pieces, putting her back together like an art project over the years. As far as both of them were concerned, Clarke had no mother. 

The fire in Clarke’s eyes, the sadness that painted pursed lips - it was the picture of a girl who watched a caregiver turn monstrous, and Lexa ached to take her pain away. 

“What did she say?” Lexa asked softly, watching as Clarke took a deep breath before turning to meet her eyes. 

“Nothing of importance,” she smiled sadly, blue eyes begging to change the subject. With a gaze of understanding, Lexa cleared her throat in an attempt to lift the air grown heavy around them. 

“So,” she started quickly, “how is therapy going? I feel like we haven’t really talked about it.” She wanted to know everything about Clarke’s days now that she was spending more time at the office. Nothing in the world could convince her to go back to a life in which she brushed off Clarke like a stray dog begging for comfort on her front porch. This time around, she would listen with ears trained to the blonde’s voice and her voice alone. 

“Things are good. Raven and I got lunch a few days ago,” she chimed, face lighting up at the mention of the feisty brunette. Lexa’s jealous nature roared something ferocious in her chest, though the smile on her face only mirrored the blonde’s excitement. She shook herself, knowing she had no right being jealous. Clarke was allowed to have friends; especially when those friends understood her pain better than Lexa ever could. 

“Do you remember anything new?” Lexa asked. If the hopefulness in her voice reached Clarke’s ears, the artist pretended not to notice. Instead, she turned to the side, crossing her legs and facing Lexa instead of leaning against the wall. 

“Not much,” she sighed, folding her hands in her lap. Her eyes were staring daggers into her own palms, intent on hiding her disappointment. 

“Hey hey hey,” Lexa soothed, leaning forward and touching their knees together as she mirrored Clarke’s new posture. Without thinking, she reached a shaking hand out, tucking a finger under Clarke’s chin and tilting it up so their eyes could meet. The electricity from touching Clarke’s skin shot up her arm, her stomach nothing but a storm rolling in. Besides a few gentle grazes and accidental run-ins, they had kept their distance. She didn’t want to push Clarke, intent on hanging on to her courteous nature with bleeding fingernails. This was a bold move, a show of unhinged confidence the lawyer didn’t know she even possessed. Clarke’s blue eyes widened in surprise, though they held no trace of regret. She let the finger remain against soft skin. Lexa swallowed the rock that had lodged itself in her throat. 

“Um...w-well...well I’m proud of you,” she stammered, her tongue thick with a mixture of desire and humiliation. A dangerous cocktail that coated her mouth. “It takes as long as it takes. Just know that I’m proud of you.”

Lexa took her hand away from beneath Clarke’s chin slowly, bringing it back into her own lap, picking at her fingernails as she drew her gaze away from the girl entirely. 

“I’ve always been proud of you,” she added almost silently. 

It was the truth. Through childish arguments and locked doors, it was  _ Lexa _ who turned an empty room into a safe haven. It was Lexa who wrapped a giggling blonde into a twirling embrace when she sold her first piece. It was Lexa who used her professional influence to add to Clarke’s client list. It was Lexa who hummed praise against a halo of golden hair as the girl painted feverishly, even as Clarke brushed her off and scolded her for being a distraction. She had always been proud of Clarke, and that was something the world couldn’t take from her; accident or no accident. 

The air was still for only a moment. The sounds from the cars outside were muted, the horns a soft chime instead of a blaring siren. There was no clock, no watch on either of their wrists that could fill the space with white noise. Instead, Lexa felt her tense shoulders settle at the gentle whispers of Clarke’s breath in front of her. When they stopped, Lexa looked up with curious eyes, only to be knocked backwards by a heavy body colliding with hers. 

She had no time to breathe, air leaving her lungs in a loud  _ whoosh _ . She barely had enough time to brace herself against the wall behind her in fear she was going to hit her head. Without warning, warm lips descended upon hers, plump like bee stings and sweet like honey. A slender nose resided beside her own. A forehead with stray hairs decorating alabaster skin pressed against her overheated skin. She had no time to think, her limbs frozen and her heart throbbing violently in her chest. 

The smell of vanilla surrounded her in a haze. Undertones of fresh flowers and salt water laced through her nose. In an instant, Lexa felt herself melt like wax to a flame. She commanded her still lips to move in time with the blonde’s, drawing a whimper from deep within the girl’s throat. It was enough to make Lexa see galaxies behind closed eyelids. 

She felt Clarke reach a hand up, wrapping behind her neck and tangling deft fingers in her hair, pulling them closer together. Their heartbeats resounded in a rhythm fit for an orchestra, perfectly in tune and in time with each other. 

Lexa hadn’t been aware of how lonely her lips had gotten after months of misuse. It wasn’t until she tasted their past against her tongue did she realize: the taste of sweet champagne on their first date, of loving excitement as she lifted Clarke over the threshold of their first house together, of honeyed moans in the moments kept private. It flooded her with a force strong enough to pull tears to the corners of her eyelids held closed in a vice. The weight of her love was as strong as Atlas, forced to forever hold up the sky. 

With a heavy moan that ripped itself into a sigh, Clarke pulled away, resting her forehead against Lexa’s in an attempt to catch her breath. Lexa saw spots behind her eyelids. 

She didn’t speak, afraid her voice would crack and shake with nerves threatening to consume her entirely. It wasn’t until Clarke inched forward again that she found her courage. 

“Waitwaitwait,” she breathed, moving a hand up to press lightly against Clarke’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head. A fire in her stomach screamed for her to continue, her lips aching to lock against the artist’s. Every atom in her body was set ablaze with want, with desire, with love; it was soothing and overwhelming all at once. As much as she craved pink lips sweeter than Eden, her mind was a tangled mess that needed to be organized. 

A brokenness filled Clarke’s crystal eyes shining with lust as Lexa pushed her away. She cursed herself and felt her tongue trip over itself trying to right her wrong before it spun out of control.

“It...no, it’s not...look, it’s not you. I swear it,” she said, cupping Clarke’s face between both of her hands, feeling the warmth of the blonde’s cheeks like an untamed fire against her palms. She shivered at the heat and the softness all the same. Clarke looked at her expectantly, waiting with bated breath as she fought to keep her beating heart under control. Lexa shrugged it off, pretending not to notice the way the artist’s pulse fluttered wildly against her throat. 

“I don’t want to push you,” she continued slowly, swiping her thumb over lips tender with young love. Clarke sighed against her touch and leaned the weight of her chin fully into Lexa’s loose embrace, letting a thunderstorm of emotions toil within the lawyer’s chest. 

“We haven’t had a chance to really talk about this,” she tucked a stray hair behind Clarke’s ear, “about us.” She pulled her hands away, settling them back in her lap. Lexa nearly whimpered at the loss, and if Clarke did the same, she pretended not to notice. 

“Lexa,” Clarke sighed, shaking her head and tugging her bottom lip between pearly teeth. The vision made Lexa shudder. 

“I want to try this. I want to try us,” she started again with a hand gesturing between them. “I see how much I loved you in pictures a-and all over the house, and I just...I want to try.”

“Clarke, I-”

“Lex, please. You’ve been so, so wonderful and gracious and you’ve been so patient with me. But please, for the love of god, let me speak.” 

Lexa chuckled and nodded her head in embarrassment, allowing the fiery girl to continue with her speech she so obviously prepared. 

“I think it could be good for both of us. We would have to start from the beginning, but it’s better than not starting at all, right? I want to feel what an ‘us’ is really like. I can’t live my life through pictures alone.” She looked at Lexa with hope in her eyes, a dazzling ocean pleading with the verdant shore to let them touch one more time. Lexa would be foolish to not give her the world and a half. 

“Okay,” she breathed, nodding her head with greedy reluctance. She wouldn’t push Clarke; the girl had the reins in her hands completely. Though it didn’t soothe the burning ache in her chest to taste honeyed lips a thousand times over. 

“Okay?” Clarke asked with a smiler brighter than the summer sun. 

“Okay.”

With a squeal and a lunge, a mass of tangled gold was the last thing Lexa saw before melting into lips sweeter than first-date champagne. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! It's been a while, but I'm back. Let me know how you guys like this chapter, there's definitely more to come.  
> As always, you can find my tumblr [here](https://hedadebnamcarey.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter Six

The snow fell across the windshield like cherry blossom petals floating to the ground. They danced a festive tango, swaying back and forth with the wind before settling on the car hood, creating a thin layer of powdered sugar that Lexa inevitably was forced to brush off with a groan and shaking hands. Even wrapped in mittens, her hands were not immune to the cold. 

“Damn snow,” she muttered under her breath, snow brush clasped tightly in her palm as she moved it across the hood, careful to step out of the way before the wind blew it back to hit her. 

“Ready?” a voice chimed from behind, startling her for only a moment until she recognized Clarke’s usual chipper inflection. Lexa turned, brush in hand with tiny white crystals clinging for life against the black fabric of her jeans. She watched as Clarke drank her in, registering the three layers of socks peeking out from the tops of her boots, the wool scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, and a gray knitted beanie pulled snugly against her tousled hair. Clarke bit her knuckle to stop from laughing at the frustration burning hellfire in Lexa’s eyes. Someone wasn’t very happy about the overnight snow.

“Ha ha very funny, laugh it up Griffin,” she teased, using what bit of strength her icy fingers had left to fling snow at the blonde with the next swipe of her brush. Clarke’s mouth dropped in shock, frozen to her spot on the walkway, gloved hands held out from her body with words of protest trapped on her tongue. All Lexa could do was cock an eyebrow, inviting more trouble. 

“Oh you’re dead, Woods” Clarke all but growled, lunging forward and packing a handful of snow into a tight ball, throwing it at Lexa with a strength the brunette didn’t know she possessed. 

With a a small  _ oof  _ that escaped her lungs, Lexa found her chest splattered with freezing snow. The cold began seeping through the fabric of her coat, inching through the slats made by the zipper track. Lexa grumbled, brushing off the snow as quickly as she could, muttering to herself about what a useless invention zippers were if cold could get between the teeth anyway. 

A melodic laugh, hot breath, a wave of blonde: it all cascaded around her at once, looking up to find Clarke standing incredibly close. It was all she could do to not lean on the car for support. 

“I take it someone doesn’t like the cold,” Clarke murmured, slipping the gloves off her fingers and tucking them into her coat pockets before wrapping her hands around the back of Lexa’s neck. She shuddered at the warmth, deft fingertips playing gently with the baby hairs they found. 

“I hate it.” She leaned her forehead down, resting it against Clarke’s and closing her eyes, breathing in the girl wrapped tightly around her. 

Though it had only been a few days -- uneventful and filled with work at best -- their relationship had made strides, mountains moving between them. Chaste kisses and hugs from behind became commonplace in the kitchen as Lexa cooked them dinner, smooth jazz and Sinatra flowing through crackling phone speakers. Clarke had somehow convinced her to move from the couch back into their bed as well. Though it started tense, feeling oceans laid before them with each hugging their own side of the mattress, Lexa realized that even through the accident, through the memory loss and reinvention of self, Clarke remained an incredibly needy sleeper. Often times she woke up with the artist’s slender thigh thrown lazily across her hips with lips pressed into the divot of her clavicle. It made her heart flutter something wild, more hummingbird than beating organ. She felt hope blossom in her chest with every passing second. This could be the fresh start she yearned for, the redo she begged Anya to let her continue with. 

“Lucky for you I think I know a way to warm you back up.” Clarke’s voice dragged her back into reality, barely able to register the flirtatious words before candied lips descended onto hers, hands moving from behind her neck to either side of her cheeks. She faltered only a bit between the warmth of Clarke’s hold and teeth nipping playfully against her bottom lip, finding herself pressed up against the side of the car. Her hands scrambled, but finally found purchase against the softness of Clarke’s hips, wrapped tightly in a coat so white it matched the sky. 

She swiped her tongue against Clarke’s upper lip with a whine, urging the kiss to deepen, addicted to the taste and desperate for more. Whether it be lazy, unfocused kisses first thing in the morning, or a movie night turned makeout session on the living room couch, Clarke usually abided by Lexa’s begging. This time, however, she pulled away with a smirk, leaving the usually stoic lawyer a stuttering mess of confusion and extinguished desire that pooled deep in her stomach. 

“We’re going to be late,” she said softly, kissing Lexa’s bitter cold nose before ushering the girl aside and stepping into the passenger seat. 

Lexa stood flabbergasted against the car, unable to form words. Even after all these years, Clarke had such a vice-like grip on her, able to turn her into a wanton mess at any given second. The sound of the car horn coming from beneath her startled her back into reality, an anxious blonde with an upturned brow looking at her through the windshield. Shaking her head, Lexa moved around to the driver’s seat and lowered herself into the car. 

 

*****

 

Clarke fiddled with the radio from the passenger seat, switching back and forth between channels that shook the car with top chart hits and unfinished conversations among radio hosts. Even Christmas music felt wrong, Lexa realized, as the blonde quickly turned the radio off in favor of comfortable silence. Lexa had watched the whole show through the corner of her eyes: the wiggling, the focused look forcing Clarke’s tongue between her teeth, the hot breath getting closer and closer to Lexa’s neck as the blonde reached for the dial. She felt her heart racing in her chest and blood pumping something hellish in her cheeks; she was sure Clarke would notice the flushed pink sooner or later. 

Clarke turned her attention out the window, resting her head against the cool glass with a gaze filled with wonder. Lexa dared to take her eyes off the road every five seconds just to drink her in with a smile brighter than stars. This girl really got her good. 

The road was slick, and Lexa found herself gripping the wheel even tighter once she hit the highway, forcing herself to stay focused on the cars in front of her and not the stunning girl sitting by her side. Clarke was in one accident already, she was not about to cause another. 

Once they pulled off the highway, passing cars and taking exits that brought them to an old country road with a barely-visible, double yellow line down the center, Lexa felt her shoulders relax, her grip loosening against the leather they desperately clutched. 

“Where are we?” came a voice from her side. Lexa smiled without taking her eyes from the road, knowing what caught Clarke’s attention.

To either side of them towered trees larger than life, old spindly pines with needles caked in heavy white snow. The branches drooped with the weight, a gust of wind occasionally relieving the stress and knocking a glittering pile back towards the earth in a mini snowstorm. People often came up for the fall, but there was something about this road in the depths of winter that tugged at Lexa’s heart every single time. 

“A deer! A deer! Over there, through the trees!” Clarke’s voice rang giddily through the car, chiming in Lexa’s ears like a song she could never forget. She slowed the car, taking her foot off the pedal and pulling over to the shoulder so Clarke could see clearly. They watched -- ever so quietly with the engine shut off -- as a doe made her way through the trees, exposing herself to their gaze. Her nose twitched from the car exhaust, her ears flicking with ever-present caution. As Clarke watched the animal with her face nearly pressed to the glass, eyes trained towards an animal rarely -- if ever -- seen in the city, Lexa watched her instead, noting the way her eyes lit up with the sight before her and the smile that spread across her face in wonderment. A gust of wind created a flurry of snow, spooking the anxious animal, sending her leaping across fallen logs and out of eyesight. Clarke sighed disappointedly against the window but turned to face Lexa instead. 

She watched as Clarke’s face scanned hers, most likely seeing the utter love and devotion that was sure to be printed loud and bold across her gaze. They smiled at the same time. 

“To answer your question,” Lexa started, looking out the windshield towards the road tunneled by trees that never seemed to end, “we’re just outside of Catskill. Lincoln lives in town.” 

“Kind of a long way to drive, don’t you think?”

Lexa laughed under her breath, shaking her head and starting the car again to warm them back up. 

“What?” Clarke asked. “Spill it Woods, what’s so funny?” 

“Nothing, it’s just...you used to beg me to drive you up here all the time. We used to see Lincoln a few times a month, before he and O got married a few months ago.” 

Clarke was silent, her expression one of focus and deep concentration; most likely trying to remember something of those times, even just a sliver. 

“Just wait until we get into town. You’ll see why two hours in nothing. You’ll be begging me to drive you back in a month, I swear it.” Lexa instantly bit her tongue, trying to shake the deer-caught-in-headlights look she had planted on her face. 

They had never talked about the future. They had never so much as whispered a breath about what would happen. The furthest they made plans was two or three days, so a month felt monumentous. The word felt thick on her tongue as it fell from her mouth. She hoped -- dear god, did she hope -- that they would have that long; that they would still be going strong in a month from now. She still held the ring in her hand every morning as Clarke remained sleeping, sprawled out like a starfish in their bed. The way Lexa looked at her could rot teeth. She hadn’t lost hope this far, she was determined to make it work. 

Clarke smiled at her, catching her slip but paying it no mind. For that, Lexa was thankful. Lexa took over as DJ, turning the radio back on and flipping to a Christmas station. Once the volume was only gentle background noise, she put the car back into drive and they pulled back onto the main road. 

The curves took them twisting and turning but Clarke’s low, unfocused humming had Lexa’s stomach absolutely somersaulting. With a heart flying like a hummingbird, Lexa took a deep breath and uncurled her fingers from the wheel, only to settle her hand against the center console with her palm upturned towards the sky. Their first date flashed briefly before her eyes in sounds of angels laughing and dimmed lights and a move very similar to this. She waited with bated breath, eyes fixed on the road and nothing else out of nervousness that threatened to spill from every pore of her being. Her ears began to drown out the music, her skin prickling up her spine, left hand marbled into place with her right open and undoubtedly trembling. 

_ I should pull away _ , she thought, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth.  _ That’s what I should do. I should pull away and turn the car around and go back home. Or move to a different state entirely.  _

Before she had time to rip her hand from the console, warmth surrounded her fingertips. Her heart leapt into her throat, her mouth filling with cotton, eyes wide as they studied the road. She didn’t dare look away in fear it was an illusion. 

But then a squeeze came. Gentle, timid, unsure of itself, but very real. It was their sign to each other, that everything was okay. Whether Clarke knew it or not, was aware of it or not, it made Lexa’s heart utterly soar. She settled back into her seat, relaxing her shoulders, untensing her knuckles gone white with the strain. Clarke’s hand was in hers; she could conquer the world. 

 

*****

 

The car pulled into the driveway with a gentle hum until the engine was shut off. They remained still in their seats, hand in hand, peering out the windshield towards the quaint cottage that sat nestled between two towering oaks. The white siding with a gray shingled roof reminded her of a seaside cabin, a home destined for the ocean that remained stuck in New York. The rose bushes that bloomed something wild were wrapped in a thick blanket of snow, the flowers waiting until spring to bloom again. The front door, painted deep navy with a golden knocker in the center, drew her attention, watching as it opened just a crack. She took a deep breath. 

“Lexa’s here!” Anya’s voice was muffled from inside the car, yet she knew it was her cue to go in. She squeezed Clarke’s hand, looking towards the blonde at her side. She could sense the anxiety, the nerves that overtook her lover filling the small space. Though Clarke had met these people hundreds of times, even attending Lincoln’s wedding as a bridesmaid, they remained strangers to her now. Lexa could tell it saddened her that she couldn’t dig deep enough to gather even a sliver of information about the house that stood tall before them. 

“Hey,” Lexa murmured, drawing Clarke’s attention. The blonde smiled with lips sealed shut, never reaching her eyes. “I know you can’t remember. That’s okay. I’ll be there the whole time, and you know Anya,” she reminded her, squeezing her hand again for good measure. Lexa waited for the pressure to return, a reciprocation of some kind. With a heavy sigh, more of frustration than irritation, Clarke gripped her hand tightly with a sharp nod before releasing Lexa’s fingers all together. They stepped from the car. 

“Hi Clarke!” Anya called from the porch. She was leaning down, her fingers wrapped around something hidden by the door, something capable of shaking her whole body. While Clarke looked on in curiosity, Lexa just bit back a knowing grin. 

They moved up the steps to the front door, Anya flashing both of them a smile before releasing her hold on whatever she had, opening the door a bit wider. In a flash of golden curls and slobbering kisses, a medium-sized dog lept out onto the porch, entire body wiggling with excitement. His eyes, deep and warm like pools of melted chocolate, couldn’t be bothered to look in Lexa’s direction, all of his attention granted to Clarke; the girl who snuck him food from the dinner table and let him sleep with her in the guest bed, always shoving the lawyer to the side to make room. It never failed to make Lexa laugh as she nearly fell off the bed, the blonde choosing to snuggle with the little lion instead of her.

Before Clarke could register the hyperactive creature, he was up on his hind legs with his front paws pressed to her chest, desperately trying to lick at her chin. Giggles filled the air, a chiming sound that could not go unnoticed. Lexa just smiled hopelessly, almost able to feel the cartoon hearts exploding from her eyes. 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough Kai, settle down boy.” The wiggling continued, the spaniel unable to contain all of his excitement in just his tiny, docked tail. Clarke ran her fingers through the curls on his ears, her hand almost disappearing into the fur entirely. Anya reached for his collar, pulling him off the poor girl. 

“He needs a good run,” Lexa said, patting the dog on the head before stepping inside, reaching a hand out to Clarke to pull her along. 

“Yeah, and a good shaving,” Anya chuckled, waiting until they were inside before letting Kai loose in the entryway and shutting the door. Clarke had lost her appeal to him, trotting away into the living room to curl up on the little red couch, ears drooping over the sides as he laid his head down on the cushion. 

“There she is,” came a booming voice down the hall. Lexa grinned her excitement, stepping out of her shoes and running to meet him halfway in a tight bear hug. 

Lincoln smelled of fresh pine and crackling fire, a cabin tucked deep into the woods with a winding dirt path leading to the front door. His simple gray shirt, long-sleeved and snug around his middle, felt scratchy against Lexa’s cheek, her head nestled against his heart. 

“Have you gotten taller?” she muttered against his chest, feeling a belly laugh erupt from beneath her ear. 

“Lex, you saw me a few months ago. Don’t think I’ve grown since then.”

“Still. You feel taller. It’s been too long.” Lexa stepped away, running her hand down Lincoln’s arm until she found her fingers clasping his own. 

“Clarke,” her voice called, drawing the blonde’s attention away from the snoring dog on the couch. “This is Lincoln. The one you saw in the picture.” 

Clarke walked forward, timid as if she were unsure of her steps. She reached a hand out to Lincoln, a formal handshake for a man she’d unknowingly met thousands of times. Lincoln just smiled, his teeth crystalline against the darkness of his skin. Without hesitation, he released Lexa’s hand and bundled Clarke into his arms, chin resting at the crown of her head. Lexa watched nervously, unsure how Clarke would handle it. She forgot to tell her how much of a hugger Lincoln could be. 

When Clarke’s fingers snaked around his middle, pressing against the expanse of his back, Lexa felt a breath escape her. She was good; Clarke was good. 

“Well,” Lincoln said, stepping away from the blonde and turning back towards Lexa. “I think O is in the kitchen, dinner should be just about ready.” With a nod, he stepped from the entryway to the kitchen, his long legs carrying him in strides. Lexa watched him go, feeling warmth flood her left side in an instant. She looked over, meeting bright blue and a dazzling grin. 

“So you like Lincoln, I’m guessing?” she asked, her tone a slight tease. She had no worries; everyone loved Lincoln. 

Clarke nodded, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, flashing a glance towards the kitchen where Anya fiddled with the stereo and Lincoln picked at the food. 

Lexa followed her gaze, not entirely sure what the girl was staring at, before a tender hand cupped her cheek, fingers tangling into her hair, pulling her down into a kiss. Clarke’s body nearly melted against her’s, finding her own arms snaking around the blonde’s back to pull her impossibly close. Her lips tasted sweet, the air around them thin, and for only a moment, Lexa saw their life together; standing in their kitchen, hosting their own holiday dinner. Anya, struggling to open a bottle of wine, begrudgingly asking their brother to open it instead. Octavia, sitting on their living room floor, watching as a raven-haired child with olive skin played with blocks on the hardwood. Lincoln, teasing Anya incessantly with a tongue between his teeth, his entire world shifting at the sound of his daughter’s voice from the other room. And Clarke, leaning against the island, blonde tresses tied into a loose bun, with a diamond on her left hand and ocean eyes that never failed to make Lexa’s heart melt, even after all these years. 

Lexa settled into the kiss before the sound of a throat clearing came from the living room. The vision in her mind faded like a ghost, and they stepped away from each other quickly. Anya stood with her hands crossed over her chest and Lexa felt her cheeks bloom hot pink. With a raised eyebrow from her sister, she lowered her head like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

“I’m just teasing, you idiots. C’mon, it’s time for dinner.” 

Clarke stole a glance at Lexa, her face the color of roses. It was all she could do to stifle a laugh at the flushed artist at her side. 

 

*****

 

“Octavia, this is so good. Did you do something different this year?” Anya’s voice rang out across a nearly silent table. Lexa nodded her agreement, looking towards her sister at the head of the table, then to Octavia directly across from her. 

Octavia hadn’t changed much since the last time they visited, though her current haircut was sharp and somehow accentuated her features even more. She just smiled at the compliment, her warm eyes drinking in the elaborate dishes laid before them all, lining the center of the table. Lincoln wrapped an arm around the back of her chair, squeezing her shoulder with a loving grin.

“I found a recipe with pineapple juice and brown sugar for the ham.” 

They all nodded their approval, resuming their silence in favor of eating. 

Towards the end of dinner, Clarke’s hand had found itself nestled against Lexa’s thigh, squeezing ever so often; a comfort more than anything. With every stroke of her hand, every brush of her thumb, Lexa felt her entire world quake and shiver, love blossoming from every corner of her being. The hope she felt was indescribable. 

“So Clarke,” Lincoln started, wiping his mouth with a napkin before leaning back in his chair with a full belly. “How are you doing?” 

“She’s doing great,” Lexa answered, glancing from the girl at her side to her brother. “The doctors are still hopeful she can make a full recovery. We just have to wait it out.” 

The hand on her thigh squeezed, though she thought nothing of it. 

“Have you gotten any memory back?” He asked, watching as Anya got up from the table to clear the dishes. 

“She’s gotten a few back here and there, but nothing big. A lot of it is from a year or so after college.” 

“What about your art? Have you picked that brush up again?” Lincoln chuckled, his attention now solely focused on Clarke. 

“We miss those paintings of yours, Griffin,” Octavia said with a smile, standing to help Anya with the clean-up. 

“She hasn’t gotten back into it,” Lexa answered again. The hand once on her thigh was long gone, the skin cold and empty where it used to be. “She paints in there sometimes, but hasn’t found her groove yet. Everything she’s done since the accident has been trashed,” she added, looking towards the artist at her side. 

She felt her eyebrows furrow in question as she watched Clarke, staring at the hands in her lap. 

“Where is your bathroom?” The blonde asked, her voice timid and quiet, a voice Lexa thought was long gone. Her eyes lifted, scanning Lincoln as she asked. 

“It’s down the hall, first door on the left.”

With a polite “excuse me”, she left the table and moved down the hallway, finding the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. 

Lexa’s eyes followed her, a strange feeling filling her stomach, something akin to unsettlement. 

“I was asking her, you know,” Lincoln said firmly. Lexa turned back around, staring at her brother across the table. 

“What?”

“I was asking her those questions, Lex. Not you. I know you’re going through this too, but I wanted to hear from her. I wanted to hear how  _ she _ felt about her progress. This is more her story than yours.” 

Lexa felt a punch land to her chest, air leaving her lungs, her spine glued to the back of her chair. She sat at the table, stunned and confused.  _ Did I really answer all of those questions myself?  _

“I guess I’ve just gotten so used to explaining to our friends or coworkers. She usually looks to me to answer for her.”

“That may be so, Lex,” Lincoln leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, “but she’s getting these memories back. She’s becoming less dependant, less reliant on  _ you _ telling  _ her _ story. She deserves a voice in this too.”

The bathroom door clicked open, the body of her lover replaced at her side; she remained frozen in her chair. 

 

*****

 

The drive home felt stiff, almost as if they were both marbled to their seats, the road passing beneath their feet as their limbs remained motionless. The radio was silence, a thick static replacing the joyous energy that once inhabited the space. Even Clarke’s breathing was quiet, her eyes turned outwards against the passenger window, beanied head leaning against the glass. The trees passed around them, a cavern of needled giants that shook snow to the roof of the car. Lexa wanted to unzip her skin and step out of her body. She felt itchy, her fingers twitching against the steering wheel, pinpricks lining her spine to the back of her neck. She felt hot, anxious, her mouth gone dry. She wanted to apologize for dinner, but she seemed to have forgotten an entire language. 

Instead, as they watched the countryside blend seamlessly into cityscape, the hustle and bustle around them a welcomed distraction, Lexa did the only thing she could think to do: she reached her hand out, resting it against the center console, fingertips shaking like an earthquake but open nonetheless. She waited and waited, not daring to take her eyes from the road. An intake of breath from her right, a shifting of fabric. From the corner of her eye she watched as Clarke looked towards her open palm, only to clench her fists tighter in her lap. Ice poured through Lexa’s veins. 

As if she had been burned, she ripped her hand from the center, quickly wrapping it back around the wheel. She knew where she stood. She knew she needed to try and fix it, make an effort; she grew sick as she realized the longer she went without speaking, the more her older self took shape. She didn’t want this for them, didn’t want this for Clarke. This was her second chance. 

“I-I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking and low, cracking with unuse. Clarke didn’t move. “I’m sorry about dinner. I should’ve let you explain yourself. This is your story, not mine.” Lincoln’s words felt thick on her tongue, though they were true. Pity parties could not be thrown forever. At the end of the day, it was Clarke’s memories that were gone, not hers. 

The right blinker turned on, the clicking sound echoing through the quiet like an empty cavern. She turned out of the city and onto the country road. The tree Clarke hit was still splintered at the base. She glowered and ground her teeth at the sight, though Clarke didn’t recognize it at all. 

Soon, they were home, pulling into the driveway covered with a thick layer of snow. It was growing dark, the sun setting earlier with the season. The porch lights glowed in the dusking sky, the neighborhood eerily silent as they stepped from the car. Lexa made her way to the passenger side with her usual agenda, fingers reaching to open Clarke’s door, only to be met with the girl doing it herself. The artist lifted from the car, shutting the door without so much as a glance in Lexa’s direction. A knife was slowly plunged into her chest, twisting and turning on its entrance. 

Clarke opened the front door, Lexa in tow, nipping at her heels with a pleading gaze the blonde refused to see. Slowly, silently, they undressed their winter gear, hanging up coats and taking off shoes. Clarke retired to the studio, closing the door behind her. 

Lexa ran her fingers through her knotted hair, feeling the dampness where snowflakes melted. She flipped on the lights, making her way into the kitchen. 

She wasn’t the kind of person that numbed the pain. She wasn’t the kind of person that replaced alcohol with feeling. However, her mouth grew sour the longer she went without a glass of wine. She felt as if she was stuck in a corner, talking to walls and confiding in the silence she got back. She could see nothing but the darkness in front of her. There wasn’t much more she could do to fix her royal fuck up. She apologized without gritted teeth, she offered comfort without a catch, she communicated without building walls, and yet she sat alone in the kitchen with a glass of wine while her lover secluded herself with her paintbrushes. Something overtook her, slamming her hand on the countertop in a rage she had never known before. 

The sound of her fist blended with the sound of a car honking outside. Though hard to hear over the blood boiling in her ears, Lexa grew curious at who could be honking at such an hour, moving to the living room to look through the blinds. 

An old cadillac sat in their driveway, rumbling low and ancient with headlights blaring towards the house. The driver was hidden in the darkness, but Lexa wanted to have a few words. As she turned with every intention to step outside and have a little chat with the stranger on her property, she felt her feet planted to the floor at the sight in front of her, coming down the hallway. 

Clarke stood in tattered sweatpants, paint drying at every thread. A thick sweatshirt wrapped around her shoulders, hair thrown into a ponytail. She looked carefree, comfortable even. In her hand she held a metal box with a handle and three canvases. Lexa recognized the box immediately; it was an antique tackle box she found at a yard sale. It had retractable shelves when the lid was opened and a deep base for lots of storage, perfect for holding Clarke’s paints and brushes. That very box was transported back and forth between the gallery and their house, new splatters of paint appearing with every journey. It was a prized possession, something she rarely left the house without. The fact that it was clutched so tightly in her hand made Lexa choke. 

“Hi,” she whispered, drinking in the sight before her. Clarke looked frazzled, obviously hoping to slip out as quietly as possible. “What’s going on?”

“I’m...leaving.”

Lexa felt her stomach drop to the floor. If it could collapse even further, she was sure it would. Her heat skipped at  _ least _ six beats in her chest, a pain radiating from her lungs. 

“Y-you’re...what?”

“I’m going to stay with Raven. She came to pick me up.”

The words made sense; the language was correct, each noun and verb and clause aligning perfectly, yet Lexa couldn’t seem to understand. It suddenly felt as if she were plunged underwater, her ears rejecting every sound until it all melted into one low noise. 

“Why? Why are you leaving, Clarke?” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, bile rising to her throat. Flashes of their fight came into her vision, broken images of shattered glass and slamming doors, only to end in a tragedy. Her hands felt clammy. 

“Today, when we were at dinner,” Clarke started, her voice quivering slightly. She sighed her frustration as she looked to Lexa with pitiful eyes. “You explained everything for me. I couldn’t get any words out, Lex.”

“And I said I was so-”

“No. Let me speak. It’s finally my turn.”

Lexa felt the blood drip from her face, her skin growing cold. She tipped her chin in a nod. 

“Ever since I woke up, you’ve been explaining everything for me. I don’t mind it most of the time. Really, I don’t. But lately...I want to tell my own story, Lex. But I don’t think I can do that, because this story isn’t mine.”

“What do you mean?” Lexa asked, waiting until every syllable poured from Clarke’s lips to completion, waiting her turn. Clarke smiled, recognizing her patience. 

“You’ve been by my side since the moment I woke up. You taught me so much, and showed me everything. You’ve been so, so kind to me and believe me, I’m thankful. But this story isn’t mine. Even though  _ I _ was the one in the accident,  _ I _ was the one who lost everything, I still don’t know who  _ I _ am.”

Lexa stood, stunned in the entryway.  _ How could she not know who she was? _ She had shown her who she was before the accident. She waited with bated breath, allowing the blonde to finish a monologue sure to rip her heart to pieces. 

“I don’t know who I am because I haven’t experienced myself yet. I’m constantly by your side, constantly in this...this  _ house _ that I have no recollection of. I know my name, I know my childhood, I know who I’m supposed to be, but I don’t know  _ myself _ . And I...I don’t think I can know...I don’t think we can move forward until I get that.” She sighed, setting her box and canvases down on the island, moving forward until she stood painfully close to Lexa. The smell of earth and cherry blossoms flooded her nose, and tears pounded at her eyelids. Still, she said nothing. 

“We started off as a couple, even though I didn’t fully know you. I’ve loved spending time with you, I’ve loved getting to know you, but...Lex, I think we moved to fast. I need to know myself before I get...get involved with anyone else. I hope you can understand.”

Her ears were ringing. Lexa could only nod. 

“I still want to be friends, but I think we need to slow down and get to know each other as friends before we get to know each other as girlfriends. I’m not giving up on us, Lexa. I just think this is for the best.” 

Clarke stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to Lexa’s cheek before picking up her things and slipping on her shoes. Lexa stood frozen in place, even as the front door opened. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispered. Lexa felt a tear slip from her eyes, her demeanor shattering. She took a deep breath.

“I love you.”

The door closed. The words were never echoed back. 

Lexa had never known silence like this. It felt earth shattering, her ears going numb as her stomach swallowed her heart whole. Her fingers trembled at her sides, a wave of cold settling over the house. Orange turned to gray, yellow turned to blue, and Lexa felt herself move in slow motion. 

The Christmas tree they had decorated together looked hideous now. The framed pictures of them lining the fireplace were soul-crushing. The books on the coffee table, the beers in the fridge, the socks on the bedroom floor; it all ripped her lungs from her chest and replaced them with darkness and charcoal and a loneliness heavier than the earth itself.

She went to the door with hands that shook on the doorknob. Everything in her being screamed to leave it unlocked, begged to leave their home open.  _ Just in case, _ the voices whispered.

She turned the lock. She shut off the porch lights. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for the late update. I haven't given up on the story, I have it all mapped out it's just a matter of when I get time to write. Hopefully everyone likes the update!  
> Kudos and comments give me life, don't hesitate to scream in the comments or in my ask box.  
> Come talk to me [here](https://hedadebnamcarey.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter Seven

Houses feel heavy when they’re empty. This was something Lexa came to know very well. The air is always stagnant, the quiet almost deafening. And still, Lexa moved around the house a ghost. She floated from room to room, leaving little impact on her surroundings. The television felt too loud, so she kept it off. The fireplace burned her skin, so she shivered. Food tasted bland against her tongue, so the kitchen was always unoccupied. She didn’t dare touch the beers expiring in the fridge. 

A week after the sun was ripped from her horizon, Lexa found herself curled up on the couch with her arms draped across the back, chin resting on her hands, staring aimlessly out the window. The faint ticking of a clock was the only thing she could hear in the background as she watched the snow fall against the glass; she couldn’t remember the last time she spent Christmas Eve alone. A strong fist wrapped mightily around her heart, forcing the broken pieces to stay a distorted mosaic rather than fall to the floor like rose petals. The more she lost, the emptier she felt. She was sure to fade to nothingness if she continued on without Clarke. 

The chill seeped through the fabric of her heavy sweatshirt, ripping a shiver from her spine. No amount of fuzzy socks could protect her from the cold, yet she found herself stretching her aching legs and moving to the bedroom in search of more layers. Through red-rimmed eyes throbbing with her heartache, she found herself halting just outside of Clarke’s studio. The door was left ajar, the smell of paint so absent it was almost a figment of her imagination. Though her fingers itched to push it open, to rip up the floorboards and slam fists against the walls, she took a deep breath and continued to the bedroom; she repeated this cycle nearly three times a day. 

The sound of vibration against wood was sharp in the silence, causing Lexa to jump in shock. Her phone screen illuminated on the dresser, a guiding light in a room with perpetually closed curtains. She had resorted to nomadism, a hermit in the making. She blinked harshly at the light, swiping to answer and bringing the phone to her ear.

“H-hello?” she answered, her voice cracking like a sidewalk. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken; suddenly her mouth tasted sour. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember the last time she had opened her mouth for anything, including to brush her teeth. Personal hygiene was not her top priority, as her wallowing quickly took up most of her schedule. 

“Hey babe.” Anya’s voice was soft in her ear. Her sister? Soft? Rarer than a solar eclipse. “We’ve missed you at work. Everyone’s been asking about you.” Her sister’s words were soothing and gentle, a hint of desperation laced through them. 

“Yeah, well let them ask.” 

Anya snorted at the answer; obviously Lexa’s wit was something unabandoned in the suffering. 

“Listen kid, we’re scraping by okay but you need to come back soon. I decided to close the office today and tomorrow, figured everyone needed a bit of a break.” The  _ because they’re pulling double the weight without you _ went unspoken. Being a lawyer had always been her dream: owning her own practice, fighting alongside her sister for the greater good, balancing the scales of justice and getting high on winning cases. Yet thinking about going back to work now made her stomach churn. She remained silent. 

“I know, I know. That’s not the first thing on your mind right now.” Anya took a breath. The sound of the city crackled through the phone. A woman screamed at the traffic downtown. “I’m coming by the house today, just so you know. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Anya, really, I’m-”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know. You’re fine. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be there in an hour so you better look decent. And Lex?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. I know how hard this is. I’ll be there soon.” Without waiting for a reply, the phone disconnected. Lexa grumbled to herself and ran her fingers through her hair -- at least, she attempted to before she met more knots than a sailor could fathom. She really needed a shower. 

Ever so begrudgingly, she moved into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and running her fingers under the steady stream. Once it was warm enough, once steam billowed over the shower curtain and painted the mirror solid gray, she tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling it above her head. Ghosts of calloused fingers stroked up her ribcage, a hand settling just below her breast. Lips whispered against her clavicle as she hooked her fingers in the waistband of her pants. She swore she could feel the tickling of blonde hair against her cheek. Lexa felt her skin crawl with agony. 

The water wasn’t warm enough. That was the only thing on her mind. She twisted and turned the knob, forcing it as far left as it could go, growling frustration when it couldn’t go further. She pounded her fist against the tile, letting the scalding water wash over her like hellfire. The air felt too thin, her chest felt too heavy. She couldn’t breathe under the water; but then again, she wasn’t sure she could breathe at all. It wasn’t warm enough. 

She could still feel Clarke’s skin, sliding against hers just before dawn. A lazy arm thrown across her stomach, a nose nuzzling underneath her jaw, fingers tracing the scars on her abdomen and the laugh lines by her eyes. She could still smell her perfume, lingering somewhere deep in her chest. Her stomach knotted and her heart was loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. She reached for the loofah, filling it with soap before frantically scrubbing at every inch of her skin. She travelled down her arms and up her legs and pressed as hard as she could, wincing and crying out as the roughness and the heat tore through her skin and left streaks of red scratches in its wake. She felt like she was trying to erase pen marks with a pencil eraser. Her skin itched as Clarke’s fingers stroked down her spine, the same way they did every morning when the artist rose before the sun, watching Lexa burrow deeper into the pillows and groan at the light. 

She would be sick if she had anything in her stomach to let go of. 

With shaking fingers, Lexa turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, feeling droplets snake down her skin; raw and burning. As she stared at the clothes she had laid out, albeit comfortable and lazy at best, the couch was starting to sound more appealing than ever. Her fingers twitched at the thought of cancelling plans. 

Ever so punctual, ever so chipper, Anya rattled her knuckles against the front door exactly an hour later. Lexa huffed under her breath. 

 

*****

 

She couldn’t decide if she was drowning or hungover; either way, her ears screamed and her mind buzzed with the noise. A week spent basking in silence -- where even white noise was far too loud -- had trained her ears into a sensitivity that could only be seen as unfortunate in New York City. Every clink of a coffee mug, every scrape of a chair leg against the hardwood, every shout from the flustered barista at the front: it was all far too overwhelming. 

“Lex. Lexa. Hey.” Anya snapped her fingers in front of Lexa’s face. Lexa flinched at the sound and the hand so close to her eyes, and drew her attention back to her sister with eyes deader than a cemetery. 

“Jesus Christ, Lexa. Drink your tea.” Anya waved her hand towards Lexa’s mug, bringing her own cup to her lips and taking sips of black coffee. 

They sat in a secluded corner in the shop, decorated with two armchairs that adorned plump cushions and a thin afghan thrown over the back to distract from the hideous brown color of the seats. A large window with white trim was nestled behind them, and Lexa drew her attention to the strangers outside, calling a cab and hurrying down the sidewalk. A redheaded woman with a crooked nose stepped into a Prius across the street, her phone never leaving her cheek. A man in a crisp navy suit stood by the crosswalk with a hand in his pocket, his other fiddling with his tie. A woman with blonde hair and porcelain skin walked by the window. A white beanie was peeking out from her coat pocket and her fingers were wrapped in black knitted mittens. Lexa’s heart seized when she approached the man at the crosswalk, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek. He turned, flashing her a dazzling smile, before taking her hand and planting a deep kiss against her lips hidden from Lexa’s sight. 

_ That couldn’t be Clarke. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t move on this fast, would she? She wouldn’t choose him, right? Oh god, why hasn’t she called me why haven’t I heard from her why hasn’t she texted me. I need to call her. I need to call her and tell her I- _

“Lexa. Relax. I see the gears turning in your head you know.” Anya’s voice shook her from her own mind, turning towards her sister with wide, panicked eyes. 

_ I need to call her _ . 

“W-what?”

“I know you better than you think, little sister. And that isn’t her. I saw her face when she walked by. I promise you it wasn’t her.” Anya cocked an eyebrow at her disapprovingly, waiting until Lexa took a deep breath and settled back into her chair. 

“Okay. I’m okay,” Lexa murmured reassuringly, mostly to herself, picking up her mug and relishing in the chamomile dripping down her throat, filling up her stomach with something she was sure she could keep down. Her palms were still clammy. 

“Are you though?”

Lexa set her tea in her lap, fingers trailing the rim in lazy circles, refusing to look up at her sister who was staring daggers into her skull. She wasn’t sure she had enough strength to answer without her voice shattering like glass. 

The past week was a week delivered straight from hell, packaged and stamped with the devil’s signature. Every sound at the door made her heart stutter with hope she couldn’t afford to have. She had dug herself into a hole, and for some reason she couldn’t let go of the shovel, even as she stood hopeless at the bottom. She looked up at Anya. 

“No. Not really. I mean...no. I’m not okay, An. I thought I could do this. I thought I could handle her leaving and I thought I--I don’t know what I thought. It’s all just so confusing. It’s all so much.” She gritted her teeth and blinked furiously as she felt tears itch at her eyelids already swollen with sadness. Crying was the last thing she needed to do, especially in a coffee shop with her sister sitting across from her radiating pity like a space heater. She locked her jaw and forced control to wash over her in waves. 

“I know it’s been hard for you. I just-”

“Do you?”

Anya stopped, Lexa’s interruption obviously startling her. The lawyers just sat and stared at each other, letting silence fill the space between them. Anya closed her gaping mouth, determined not to speak first. 

“I’m serious. Do you know how hard it’s been for me? Do you have any idea? Jesus Christ, Anya, it’s Christmas Eve and the girl I’ve been pining over for almost a decade is just...she’s gone.” Lexa took a breath, setting down her mug and running a hand through her hair. “She’s...she’s gone, Anya. I don’t--I don’t think she’s going to come back. And there’s nothing I can do now.”

Anya remained silent, almost motionless. Her features marbled as Lexa brought her bottom lip between her teeth. She watched her sister finally sigh away her stoicism. 

“You’re right. I’m...I’m sorry, Lex. I really don’t know what it’s like. I know how hard you’ve been working to help her.” 

Lexa nodded, her shoulders relaxing as her sister’s validation washed over her. She ducked her chin and felt her the corner of her lips twitch in a smile she wasn’t ready to share. 

“Lexa...I don’t...I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone in that house.”

Lexa looked up slowly, her face a mask of marble. A rubber band was pulled taut in her chest, and she nearly shook with the strain. She waited to let her sister finish, though she could already feel her teeth baring with a snappy retort, dripping with rage.

“I just mean, all of her stuff is there. That can’t be healthy for you. You can’t move on if-”

The rubber band snapped. 

“Move on?  _ Move on _ ? Who the  _ fuck _ are you to tell me to move on!” Lexa stood from her chair, not bothering to realize that some of the gentle chatter of the other patrons had slowly died down after her outburst. Anya didn’t dare move a muscle, her eyes glued to Lexa’s as she stood. 

“I love her. You of all people should know that. Don’t just sit there and pretend like this was some...some _ fling _ we had.  _ Years _ , Anya. For years I have been in love with her. For fucks sake, I still have the engagement ring burning a hole in my dresser!” She swallowed at the mention of the ring, her eyes burning with tears -- though she wasn’t sure she had any left to shed. She picked up her coat from the arm of the chair and tugged it over her shoulders in one fluid motion. 

“I still love her, Anya. Nothing anyone says or does will change that. I won’t move on from something I can’t live without.” She reached into her pocket and searched for the wad of ones she kept in case of emergencies. She threw the crumpled bills on the table, seething as Anya flinched. 

“Merry Christmas. Thanks for the tea.” With one last look at her sister, filled with a rage she had never known, Lexa moved through the coffee shop and out to the city street, ignoring the side-eyes from nosy customers on her way. 

 

*****

 

Jealousy is a vengeful beast and Lexa felt it tear through her bones like a fire. 

She chose to walk down 8th street and Broadway, not trusting herself to call a cab; not trusting herself to not completely and utterly break in said cab. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was headed, she just knew she wanted to get as far away as she could. 

Lexa had never been a jealous person in the typical sense. Sure, she bristled when a lingering gaze from a waitress brushed across Clarke’s features, and she may be guilty of gritted teeth when the artist gushes about a girl she met at the grocery store, but she always shakes these feelings off and pulls Clarke into her arms instead of dwelling, as if she were saying  _ mine _ . However, this time was different; this time, she was jealous of Raven. 

Raven, the stranger she has yet to meet. Raven, the one making Clarke laugh. Raven, the one who has Clarke on her couch. Raven, the one who might understand Clarke better than Lexa ever could. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. 

Maybe calling a cab wasn’t the worst idea. 

It took a fraction of a second for a car to rumble to a stop by the curb. Lexa promptly got in, telling the driver where to go and immediately turning her attention out the window. 

Skyscrapers towered above her like giants, and as the city melted into towns and the towns melted into neighborhoods, she wondered where Clarke could be. She felt thousands of miles away, and Lexa’s heart ached. It ached to hold her again, ached to feel her skin, ached to trace the freckles scattered like stars across her shoulders. It ached to kiss her. She swears it’s been a millennium since she felt Clarke’s soft lips pressed against hers. 

The cab pulled into her driveway. She quickly paid and exited, trudging up to the porch to the empty house with empty rooms and an even emptier occupant. She felt hollowness in her chest and a void in her lungs and black holes scattered across her bones. She suddenly felt exhausted as she hung her coat on the rack and stared at the silence around her. 

She wondered what Clarke was doing. Is she watching TV? Is she flipping through channels incessantly because  _ god forbid _ she stick to one program at a time? She used to say she wanted to know everything all at once or not at all. It made no sense and it was a pitiful excuse at best, but it didn’t stop Lexa from kissing her temple and staring lovingly at her eyes, illuminated with wonder and the light from some talk show. 

Lexa turned her attention from the living room, drifting into the dining room. Her tongue begged for an entire bottle of wine, her newfound dependency no match for common sense. 

Is she rummaging through the kitchen? Is she opening and closing the fridge just in case something finally sounds good to her growling stomach? Lexa could almost see a ghost of Clarke dancing around the kitchen with an oversized dress shirt -- stolen straight from Lexa’s drawer of work clothes -- with her blonde tresses in a bun and a spatula in her hand. Louis Armstrong croons through the cell phone on the counter, a candle lit on the kitchen windowsill, bathing the entire room in an orange glow. Lexa could almost smell her perfume blending with whatever new dish she decided to try her hand at; could almost hear her laugh. 

Every room held a shell of a memory, and Lexa couldn’t bear anymore of it. She wrapped her hands around a chilled bottle of ros é and turned out the lights, heading straight for bed. 

 

*****

 

_ Clarke’s moans dripped down her spine like honey. Fingers ran through her hair, nails scratching at her scalp. Her arm burned and her chest heaved, sweat tracing a line from her temple to her jaw as she nipped and sucked at the blonde’s collarbones. She ran her tongue up her neck, kissing at the heated skin painted red with lust.  _

_ “Fuck Lex...yes...please Lexa...s’close.” Clarke writhed, begged, pleaded, groaned beneath her, her breath ragged and her eyes screwed shut. Lexa smiled against her skin, leaving kiss marks like rose petals down the column of her neck to the flat expanse of her chest, pace never slowing. She moved lower, tasting salt in the valley between her breasts, moving to one side and quickly capturing a nipple between her teeth, earning a yelp from her lover. She twisted her fingers expertly, the palm of her hand nudging against her clit with every stroke, causing alabaster thighs to shake and quiver on the brink of something big.  _

_ The hands in her hair tightened, and Lexa took that as her cue. She moved her way back up to Clarke’s ear, grazing her teeth along the shell before placing a loving kiss in the hollow space just beneath.  _

_ “It’s okay, love. Let go. I’ve got you, Clarke. I’m right here.” Her voice was only a whisper, but from the whimper that left Clarke’s quivering lips, she heard every word. The artist’s free hand patted at the mattress desperately, grasping at the sheets with an aching whine. She was close, her toes over the edge, but she couldn’t leap just yet. Lexa smirked against her skin and shifted her weight, moving her free hand that rested just above Clarke’s head down to relieve the strain.  _

_ Clarke’s knuckles were white with the grip she had on the sheets until Lexa tangled their fingers together instead. The brunette ran her thumb across the back of Clarke’s hand, bringing them both up to Lexa’s chest, feeling her own beating heart fluttering madly beneath her ribcage.  _

_ That was all it took to throw Clarke over, flinging her into thin air with only Lexa’s touch to ground her. Lexa brought her gaze to Clarke’s face, her features blissed and sated. She smiled at cornflower eyes clenched tight, bottom lip pulled between teeth.  _

_ Clarke came with a low moan and a sigh that sounded sweeter than any noise Lexa had ever heard, and she was hungry to hear it again. Her fingers slowed, coaxing Clarke back to earth, her heart never slowing beneath their entwined hands. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, even as Clarke’s eyes opened to meet hers, shining with warmth.  _

_ “Hey,” Lexa murmured, smiling bright at the girl beneath her. Clarke mirrored it quickly, movements unhurried and tender as she unclasped their hands to run her fingers through Lexa’s mussed hair.  _

_ “Hi,” she whispered back, voice cracking with lust and exhaustion. _

_ Moonlight was shining through the parted blinds of Clarke’s apartment bedroom. Cars honked on the streets below. A clock in the next room ticked away the night; the time on its face read 2:06 am. Yet none of this mattered.  _

_ If it wasn’t Clarke, it didn’t matter.  _

_ If it wasn’t a voice that sounded like sunshine, it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t an arm and a leg thrown across Lexa’s waist, sleepily pulling her closer, it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t a childhood story told with dramatic hand waving that ended in a fit of giggles as Lexa tickled her sides, it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t gentle humming and heavy sighs as the bed engulfed them in a hug that lasted an entire afternoon, it didn’t matter. In that moment, in that lifetime, nothing mattered if it wasn’t Clarke.  _

_ “I love you,” Lexa said boldly. Her courage was unexpected though the words tumbled from her lips seamlessly -- as if she had been saying those words all her life. Clarke paused, her face frozen in time. Another car honked impatiently; Lexa’s nerves made a home in her stomach.  _

_ Suddenly, Clarke smiled; a warm, radiant smile that lit the room like it was sunrise. Arms were thrown across her shoulders in seconds flat, warm lips brushing hers, tongue running across in a beg for something deeper. Lexa would be foolish to not give her the world and more, so she conceded, deepening the kiss and falling into Clarke like a star flung out of space.  _

_ Their breaths tangled together in rhythm, skin heated like a fire, and Lexa couldn’t get enough. Clarke surrounded her entire being; her smell, her touch, her kiss -- it was all so overwhelming.  _

_ The blonde pulled away, catching her breath as best she could before her gaze fluttered back to Lexa’s.  _

_ “I love you too.” _

_ It was impossible for Lexa to smile brighter.  _

 

*****

 

The memory shook her awake more than her phone did. The ache in her heart felt heavy like a boulder and it was enough to startle her. Her breath came in gasps, sitting up against the headboard with a hand clutching her chest. Her eyes scanned the room frantically, even in the darkness that engulfed her. It took her a few moments to recognize the other thing that woke her up. 

Her phone was laying on the mattress next to her -- must’ve fallen asleep with it on accident. (She was doing that more and more, her subconscious silently hoping that one night Clarke’s name would light up her phone screen; it never did.)

Even now, as hope clenched a fist around her lungs, she turned the phone over, wincing at the brightness before sagging her shoulders in disappointment. It wasn’t Clarke, but an unknown number. She hadn’t seen an unknown number since…

She swiped to answer with shaking fingers. 

She said nothing. 

“Is this Lexa?” A woman’s voice, a feminine lilt to her words, jagged edges around her name. 

“Yes, it is. Who’s calling?” 

“She’s painting more. I can’t get her out of her studio. I’ve...I’ve never seen her like this.”

Lexa felt air catch in her throat, growing like a rock in her lungs. It was enough to sink her deeper into her pillows, almost sliding down the headboard. She stared at the ceiling in disbelief, the words in her ears ringing like church bells with intensity, yet they remained clear. She heard every syllable, every breath, every pause between words. Every letter nestled somewhere deep in her chest, and she waited with held breath to say her part -- she wasn’t entirely sure she had the ability to say anything at all. 

“When she came to me...when I picked her up...she threw her supplies in the back seat. She didn’t seem too worried about them. Didn’t take them inside the first night. She had told me...she’d told me before she had trouble with inspiration. Couldn’t uh...what did she say?”

“Couldn’t remember how to paint,” Lexa sighed, clenching her eyes shut as she remembered the pain in Clarke’s words as she sat staring blankly at the empty canvas in front of her. It broke Lexa in two. 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s it. Anyway, one night she just...got off the couch and locked herself in the spare room. Haven’t seen her much in a few days.”

Lexa nodded to herself. If she clutched the phone any tighter she was sure it would break completely. She forced her jaw to relax, her teeth to unclench, her muscles to unfreeze. Something inside of her howled its pain into the emptiness. Hearing about Clarke, knowing she’s doing well without her...it all burrowed knives deep into her heart. Yet hearing that she’s thriving in any sense, with or without Lexa, made a smile tug at the corner of her lips. Having Clarke live a happier life, a life where she could go back to what she loves and explore who she is -- that was better than not having her at all. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

There was near silence on the other end. The sound of an old sitcom came in as static, the laugh track just noise to both of them. The sound of someone talking in the background was distracting but the words were inaudible. There was a sound of a door opening and closing. A heavy breath. A tired sigh. 

“I just thought you would like to know.” Another pause. “Merry Christmas, Lexa.” The line clicked, then hummed the ‘call ended’ tone against Lexa’s ear. She held it against her cheek for a moment, gathering herself as best she could. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and she quickly tasted salt against her lips. She didn’t think she had any more tears left to cry; oh how wrong she had been. 

She set her phone on the dresser before wrapping herself up in her sheets, drowning in her blankets and smothering herself in her pillow as she pushed Clarke’s to the other side of the mattress. She curled in on herself quickly, a shaking ball of remorse, an endless stream of sobs wracking her wasting frame. 

She felt the dark circles under her eyes already forming as she cried her way into Christmas morning. 

Snow fell against her window in bitter silence. 

 

*****

 

A knock at the front door startled her. She jerked awake, eyes sore but wild in the darkness. She couldn’t remember falling asleep; she just remembered the effort it took to get to the end of her seemingly endless flow of tears. 

Lexa unwrapped herself from her cocoon of warmth, feeling the chill prick her skin even under her layers; Clarke’s sweatshirt and old sweatpants. The epitome of self-care. She looked like a goddamn trainwreck, but she was sure whoever was pounding on her door at 3:00 a.m on Christmas morning wouldn’t look much better. 

She scuffled into the entryway, turning on the porch light and wrapping an arm around her waist, bracing for the cold. With her free hand, she unlocked the door and swung it open. 

It wasn’t the cold that froze her. It wasn’t the bitter wind that chilled her bones. It wasn’t the falling snowflakes that marbled her face into shock. 

It was the mess of blonde hair tucked under a beanie with wild strands curling every which way at the edges. It was the red-rimmed eyes that shined the brightest blue she had ever seen. It was the red and black pajama pants tucked into sheepskin boots with holes that Lexa knew were worn into the soles. It was the frantic gaze that scanned Lexa up and down with mouth slightly agape; it looked as if she had seen a ghost. 

“Clarke,” Lexa marveled, unsure if she was actually awake. She was barely able to refrain from pinching herself. “What are you doing here? Do you know what ti-”

“I remember,” Clarke blurted, her voice cracking like glass. 

Lexa forgot an entire language of responses in seconds flat and Clarke couldn’t seem to form the words to continue. They were at an impasse as they both froze in the chill of winter with tongues tied up and throats closing with trepidation. 

Despite the sudden inability to speak, despite the obvious signs of tears on both of their cheeks, a breath entered Lexa’s lungs. 

For days, she had suffocated. As Clarke stood in front of her, she finally remembered how to breathe again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter. There should be two more after this if everything goes as planned. If you would like me to write something, you're more than welcome to send me prompts on my tumblr. I also apologize for the continuous URL change, I change it to match my tumblr URL so I am easier to find for everyone on there.  
> As always, leave comments, kudos, and come talk to me [here](https://aliciaclarkes.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter Eight

Lexa felt an array of words crack and dry up in her throat. Her brain tried to sift through every letter, every vowel left to die on her frozen tongue. She wasn’t entirely sure she remembered how to speak at all. Instead, she cleared her throat and stammered her way through a train of thought derailing from its track. 

“You...h-how...did y-you…” she started, her mouth agape with questions she couldn’t complete. She tried again. “C-come in, please.” 

Lexa stepped from the doorway, making enough room for Clarke to shuffle past her and into the house. Once the door was closed, the house was plunged back into bitter silence. Clarke took off her hat and set it on the island as Lexa turned on her heels, green meeting blue. 

“So you-”

“I remember,” Clarke repeated, wringing her hands in front of her, dragging blunt nails across the skin, leaving red streaks in their wake. Lexa could feel the nerves radiating off of her. She could see Clarke’s cheeks flash bright pink, only to realize the girl still had her coat on. 

“Here,” she offered, stepping behind Clarke and wrapping her fingers around the hem of her jacket. Clarke quickly got the hint, shrugging out of her sleeves and letting Lexa fold it in half, draping it over the back of the chair before moving back in front of her. 

“Okay, so you remember. What exactly do you remember?”

Clarke let out a huff, running her fingers through her beanie-tousled hair with eyes closed in concentration. 

“I...I remember so much. Everything. At least, I think it’s everything.” 

With gliding strides, Clarke brushed passed Lexa to sit on the couch, placing her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Her walls were neither up nor down; they were glitching. Around her sat a halo of turmoil, crashing waves and strong riptides of emotions she couldn’t free herself from, slowly drowning in herself instead. The room felt tense but soft, marbled but warm, comfortable but with edges. They were walking through a minefield of contradiction and Lexa felt her stomach grow queasy. 

She opted to sit on the couch beside Clarke, on a different cushion and an arms length away, mirroring her position but settling her folded hands in her lap instead, staring holes into the coffee table. Clarke’s breathing was ragged and from the corner of her eye Lexa could see her spine shaking with every inhale; she was crying. 

Her skin itched to touch Clarke’s. Even with the bed frigid and sheets losing her scent, Lexa could still feel Clarke’s arm thrown across a sliver of her bare midriff every night, nestling closer with a nose pressed to her neck. She wanted so badly to relive that feeling. 

Instead, she rubbed her hands together and waited for Clarke to break the silence; this was not her story to tell. 

“I remember graduating,” she finally said, her voice quiet and broken, easy to miss if Lexa’s ears hadn’t been straining to catch even the slightest change in breath. Clarke’s eyes, filled with salt water and shining like the sea, looked up to meet Lexa’s gaze. 

“I remember getting my diploma and celebrating with my friends. I remember getting a shitty apartment downtown and dragging my art supplies into that tiny space. I remember sitting on my floor with canvases propped up against the wall because I couldn’t afford furniture.” 

They both chuckled softly at the memory. Lexa had been in that apartment, had eaten there, had slept there. Clarke sold six paintings for the smallest futon either of them had ever seen, and the first night Lexa came over they tangled limbs as they slept so they could both fit; neither of them minded. 

She took a breath and continued. 

“I remember painting and quitting my waitress job once I got a few regular buyers. I remember getting the idea for a studio. I remember how  _ badly _ I wanted one, to display all of my work, but feeling so...so  _ disheartened _ that I couldn’t afford it right away.” 

A headlight flashed through the blinds. A car rumbled down the street. A dog barked a few houses down. The wind blew the trees into a symphony of whistles and tappings against the roof. But Lexa kept her eyes trained on the shattering blonde by her side, watching as Clarke found it harder and harder to keep the tears at bay. 

She wanted to reach up and wipe them away with her thumbs. She clasped her hands together even tighter than before. 

“I remember meeting you,” Clarke murmured, her voice low and solemn. She looked away from Lexa for a moment, wiping her tears on the back of her own hand. 

“I...I spilled coffee down your shirt, didn’t I?” She cracked a smile, a breathy laugh. Lexa smiled back just as wide. 

“Yes, yes you did.” 

Clarke’s cheeks got redder somehow, a garden of roses blooming along her soft cheekbones. She buried her face back into her hands and shook her head at herself, reliving the embarrassment. 

“I’m still sorry for that, by the way.” 

“There’s no need. Besides, if you hadn’t ruined my shirt we wouldn’t have started dating.”

The room grew quiet again. Lexa held her breath. Fear crept into her stomach, gnawing away at her insides. Nerves tickled through her veins, pin-pricks under her skin.  _ Had she said the wrong thing? Does Clarke not remember that far back? _

_ Does Clarke regret that day entirely? _

“I remember the fight,” Clarke sighs, shaking her head and bringing her eyes back up to Lexa’s. Her bottom lip was pulled between teeth and Lexa wanted to sink through the floor under the weight of her anxiety. She remained as stoic as possible, her posture neutral and her spine straight. She couldn’t fall apart; not here, not now. After Clarke inevitably leaves again, she can cry for the rest of eternity. She can cry until there’s nothing left of her. She can cry until she withers away entirely. But not here. Not in front of her. 

“I remember...breaking the glass. You, trying to help like always.” She paused, taking a breath. “I’ve been painting a lot more, and suddenly it just hit me. I was...I was in the middle of a piece and I didn’t know what I was even painting and then I realized.”

Lexa sat with her fingers shaking like an earthquake. 

“I realized I was painting you.” 

The air was sucked from the room. She was suddenly free falling, gravity ripped from beneath her. She felt her body settled on the couch but her mind untethered and floating away. It was information overload and her stomach churned with her emotions; fear and guilt and love and sadness roared through her chest like a tsunami and suddenly nothing else mattered than her feelings for the girl sitting two feet from her. Clarke was painting her. Clarke remembered her.

Finally, after all this time, when Clarke looked at her she no longer saw a stranger. 

Lexa swallowed hard, her heart thudding loudly behind her ribcage. She could feel her pulse throb in her ears and for a moment the entire world sounded like a war drum. It was hard to wrap her mind around; she had spent so long trying to walk Clarke through everything with the taste of desperation laid permanently against her tongue. Now, Clarke remembers her. Remembers their love. Remembers the tension. Remembers their fight. She had spent so long trying  to change herself for Clarke, to mold herself into the girlfriend she deserves, and now it means nothing. Because Clarke remembers their tragedy. 

Their eyes stayed locked together, hearts beating in time and flooding the room with the sound. Lexa felt her skin itch, but she waited for Clarke to speak. This was not her story to tell. 

“I remember you,” Clarke murmured under her breath. A shaking laugh. A twitch of her lips. Lexa sat marbled against the couch, half afraid she had become one with the cushions. 

“I remember us.”

Clarke leaned forward, hands tangling in chestnut locks. Without skipping a beat, lips captured Lexa’s and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. Nails scraped against her scalp and a warm body was pressed tightly against hers. She couldn’t command her lips to move, staying frozen against Clarke’s weight nearly collapsing into her lap. Her skin was set ablaze as she felt Clarke’s thumb just behind her ear. Clarke’s chest pressed into hers and she was convinced their hearts were beating in time. 

As they parted, a forehead resting against her own, she felt Clarke’s warm breath against her lips, shaking as she exhaled. Lights flashed behind her closed eyelids, her dizziness consuming. 

In seconds, the fingers in her hair were replaced by the cold and the weight against her chest was ripped away. Clarke sat back, rubbing her hands against her thighs and shaking her head. Lexa still couldn’t remember if she knew language at all. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...I-” Clarke stammered, lifting to her feet and pressing two fingers to the sides of her nose. “I should probably go. I’m sorry for barging in, I should have called. Merry Christmas, Lexa.” 

Lexa watched as the artist drifted into the kitchen, swiping her coat and her hat and shaking as she redressed. Lexa stood, arms dangling uselessly at her sides and eyes wide with disorientation. It was all happening so fast and even as the taste of confusion melted into her veins, the realization that she was losing Clarke -- yet again -- felt like a knife in her stomach. 

As Clarke’s fingers wrapped around the doorknob, she felt her heavy limbs kick into gear. 

She made five quick strides towards the girl by the door. With hands more sure of themselves than her brain ever could be, she turned Clarke around, briefly meeting the crashing oceans of her eyes before pushing her body against the door and collapsing their lips together with a yearning heat akin to the sun. 

She thought she heard Clarke gasp in surprise against her lips but it barely registered. The taste of the girl alone was enough to fog her mind and shake her knees. 

Her lips were soft, perhaps softer than she remembered. They moved against hers in urgency and the calloused hands returned behind her neck. She felt the girl reach on her tiptoes, growing taller and bolder with every swipe of her tongue; Lexa swore she could see the stars, even as she held one against her fingertips.  

Their bodies ensured that not even air could wedge between them. Lexa snaked her hand behind Clarke to clutch at her lower back while the other rested against her cheek, a thumb molded against soft cheekbones. 

The air around them grew thinner and thinner and it was getting harder to breathe. With a tongue leaving the swell of Clarke’s lips, Lexa begrudgingly pulled them apart, resting their foreheads together with heaving chests and hot breath. She dared to open her eyes. 

Clarke’s lips were swollen with kisses like bee stings, bright pink and agape. Porcelain cheeks were painted red, her flustered state bleeding color beneath the skin. A tear crystallized itself against the tip of her eyelash before breaking away, travelling down hot skin. Lexa was quick to wipe it away with her thumb, silently urging the girl to open her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” she murmured, her voice broken and tattered with her own emotions. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I’m sorry for not being there. I-I’m sorry...I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.” Her hands wrapped tighter around Clarke’s waist, half afraid if she didn’t hang on that the girl would disappear entirely. 

Clarke sniffled, shaking her head against Lexa’s with a breathy laugh. 

“I know you are. I know. And I also know how much you’ve tried.” She lifted her gaze. Lexa felt a finger under her chin, tipping it downward. “You’ve always been it, Lexa. I’ve always needed you. Even when...when I’m sad, o-or so angry I can’t look at you, you’re still mine. You’ve always been enough for me.” 

The kiss was heated like a branding iron forged from fire and burning with love; Lexa tasted salt and courage against her lips. 

She tasted Clarke’s cocky grin in the coffee shop. She tasted the lipstick stain on the rim of Clarke’s wine glass. She tasted the rain that flooded their first kiss and drowned them both completely. She tasted every smile, every laugh, every moan, every tear, every whispered ‘I love you’ hushed for only her ears and the darkness to hear, both of them promising to keep every tender moment a secret. With a swipe of her tongue against Clarke’s bottom lip, her legs backing them both down the hallway with rushed fingers that clawed at clothing and begged for bareness, she swore she could taste home. 

She realized, in that moment, how foolish she had been. Home isn’t a place; it isn’t somewhere people hang their clothes and trust with their secrets. It isn’t something people buy, flip, and prosper in. It’s blonde hair pulled back in golden waves. It’s paint-stained knuckles and chattering teeth. It’s freckles like stardust and eyes like the sky. 

It was foolish of her to ever believe home could be a place to settle her bones, when home had been sitting next to her all along. She would be damned to ever let that go again. 

She poured every ballad of love, every tearful apology, every ounce of adoration for her lover into each movement of her lips against Clarke’s, praying the girl could taste how much she truly loved her. 

They had been through hell and back, had fought demons with snarling teeth that refused to retreat. This was the peace that follows the war, their own personal Eden in the aftermath of heartbreak. They were rebuilding their relationship, brick by brick, kiss by kiss, and Lexa felt herself soar as every piece of her broken heart was finally put back together. 

Moans were smothered by desperate lips and rolling tongues. She wrapped shaking fingers underneath the hem of Clarke’s shirt and pulled upwards, lifting the girl’s arms above her head. The top hit the wood floors with a soft thud and she greedily snaked her hands around Clarke’s bare waist, warm and soft beneath her fingertips. Clarke sighed into her mouth at the touch, her knees nearly faltering in Lexa’s embrace; her bra was the next thing to go. 

Lexa felt unadulterated lust against her lips and a golden mane tickling her cheek when a strength fit for lions mounted her bones. With a steady grip and a breathless kiss that ceased to end, Lexa reached beneath Clarke’s thighs and lifted her off the ground. They both smiled childishly against each other as pale legs hidden by sweatpants wrapped around her waist. 

There was no throwing, no pushing and shoving. There was no roughness or blinding heat as Lexa laid them both down on the duvet still hidden by the darkness of the room. This moment was nothing more than a soft adulation, a tender conclusion, a blissful epilogue. There was no room for violence, no room for ravaging lust; no room for anything that wasn’t dripping in warmth and coated in devotion. As Clarke laid her head against Lexa’s pillow, hair splayed around her like a golden halo, they both knew what this was going to mean for them. 

Lexa looked down at her lover settled beneath her, eyes shining against the light of the moon streaming silver through the curtains, and felt a sudden anxiety clutch her chest. She hadn’t touched Clarke like this since the accident; she hadn’t touched Clarke like this in nearly a year. She nearly choked on the vision in front of her and the skin beneath her fingers began to burn like hellfire. She wanted so badly for this to be perfect, wanted to show Clarke just how much she had changed and how grateful she was for the second chance she was given, but fear had corrupted her thoughts and she couldn’t shake the feeling. _ What if Clarke regrets this moment? What if she can’t forgive Lexa for everything before the accident? What if everything Lexa did to prove her love and become a better girlfriend isn’t enough in the end? What if when they wake up, tangled together like tree branches, Clarke doesn’t love her anymore? _

A steady hand against her cheek broke her from herself. Her vision unclouded as she realized Clarke was staring at her with a furrowed brow. 

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice soft and heavy with want, “I know that look. I haven’t seen that look in ages. You’re doubting yourself. Or you’re doubting me.” She let out a chuckle under her breath. Lexa smiled and turned her head to the side, kissing the center of Clarke’s palm and closing her eyes. 

“I love you, Lexa Woods. I remember you. I remember how you were before the accident, how you treated me for months.” Lexa sighed, her stomach flipping and her thoughts loud and crashing in her brain. 

“But I also know how you were after, too.” Lexa turned her head back, her eyes meeting Clarke’s. A thumb rested against the shell of her ear, fingers tangling in the hair behind it. “You made an effort. You were kind and accommodating and completely, utterly selfless.” Clarke smiled softly, tears welling in her eyes. 

“And I love you for that.”

“I love you too.” Lexa’s voice was rough and calloused but it radiated emotion. When she saw Clarke’s smile again, even as tears dripped down pale cheeks, she wasted no time in reconnecting their lips. The grip around her lungs released and the cacophony in her head disappeared. The only thing she could hear was soft whimpers against her lips and the steady chant of her heart: 

_she loves me, she loves me, she loves me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait but it's here now! Thank you to everyone leaving kudos and comments, I love reading what you guys have to say and I always look forward to the responses on every chapter.   
> There's going to be an epilogue after this and I currently have another AU fic in the works; it's going to be much longer and much sweeter, so keep an eye out!   
> Follow me [here](https://aliciaclarkes.tumblr.com/) for updates!!!!


	9. Epilogue

The room was filled to the brim with people spilling out into the streets. The glass doors were swinging open and closed, open and closed, so much so that eventually the doorman just held it open with a wincing grimace at his slowly numbing arm. Lexa smiled pitifully at him, hoping there was something in her eyes that told him it would be over soon. It had to be over soon; her anxiety was hitting heights she didn’t realize existed. 

She was dressed simply with black slacks and an obsidian blazer, her red heels adding a pop of color that succeeded in lifting her vision up a few inches. She fiddled with the stem of the champagne glass clutched firmly in her shaking grasp, making a conscious effort not to spill a single drop on her flowing white shirt that was constantly threatened; she wanted to look her absolute best. 

The eggshell walls around her were no longer bare and no longer echoed strong enough to carry on a conversation amongst themselves. Instead, they were littered with large canvases, patterns and color dripping down every inch of the gallery. The walls were suffocating with masterpieces, though the true masterpiece was nestled in the far back corner, chatting away with possible buyers and media outlets. Lexa smiled at the sunlight radiating only a few strides away from her. 

Clarke was giddy, her eyes the brightest blue Lexa had ever seen. For the past few days, she had been chattering nonstop about her opening, waking Lexa up in the middle of the night with excitement that turned into lazy cuddles and pleads for ‘just one more hour’. As tired as Lexa was, she grinned watching Clarke in her element. 

The artist donned a tight red dress, similar to the one she wore on their first date. When she had asked Lexa to zip her up, they both smiled in realization. Nude heels cradled her feet, which swayed back and forth as she talked animatedly about a particularly colorful piece she had done. Clarke’s champagne was long forgotten, though as Lexa drank in the sight of her girlfriend she couldn’t help but empty her own glass in a solitary gulp. She blamed the alcohol for her shaking hands. 

There was a wall in the gallery that sat mighty amongst the rest of the room. It was proudly displayed center stage, with about ten individual canvases draped above printed description placards. This was the wall Lexa felt the most drawn to, and apparently she wasn’t the only one. 

As she worked her way back towards the center of the room, intent on seeing the paintings again, a group of five or six middle-aged men were tucked into a group, chatting about the pieces like clucking hens. They talked so abstractly though they held poise of educated men. They were stumbling over each other, desperate to sound more educated than the last while saying little of substance. It made Lexa chuckle under her breath at the sight, and she set her glass down on a waiter’s empty tray in order to cover her childish smirk. She breathed a sigh of relief when they fluttered away, tsking under their breath about the “artist’s craft” and whatnot. With the space emptied, Lexa stood dead-center, chin tilted towards the heavens as she lingered over every brushstroke, getting drunk on the vision before her. 

The wall was covered with paintings of her; these were the paintings Clarke was working on at Raven’s the night she got her memories back. There were only two or three to begin with, and after moving back in with Lexa she had picked up her brushes again to continue the series. 

The earliest pieces were easy to distinguish; they were red, powerful, an immovable force. On the far left wall was a piece that displayed Lexa in a throne made of tangling branches, a knife clutched in her hand and a steely gaze in her eyes. It felt disconnected somehow, the woman in the painting taking the shape of Lexa without truly embodying her. It was her least favorite, something she had been very vocal about over take-out dinners and between chaste kisses. Clarke concurred every time, though rolled her eyes and remained stoic in her signature phrase regarding the matter: “Like it or not, Woods, it’s going up. It’s important. It’s the beginning of my memories.”

Lexa sighed and moved to the next painting and the next, moving her gaze in the same linear timeline the pieces following. The reds faded into oranges, into greens, into purples. The wall was a litany of colors, the complete rainbow in such a small space, though every piece held a different story. There was a portrait with an orange background where Lexa was in a battle of some sort, her hair braided down her back and a sharpened spear in her hand. The power Clarke painted her with was incredible, and Lexa puffed out her chest as a woman approached the wall and looked back and forth between the paintings and Lexa’s face, putting the pieces together in her head. Lexa smiled, and settled on her favorite piece towards the end of the spectrum. 

It was a hazy purple with some blues intertwined within, snaking vibrance across the open space of the canvas. In the center was the two of them; the only painting with both of them together. Clarke was asleep, her chest pressed into the mattress and her hair tangled against her pillow. Her arms were splayed like wings, one draping over the edge with the other settled in Lexa’s lap. Lexa was propped up against the headboard, her hair pulled back and glasses on the edge of her nose. The bedside lamp was on, casting a yellow halo over the figures. She had a book in her hands, the title printed with scrolling black paint:  _ A Room With A View _ . 

In the painting, Lexa was smiling down at Clarke’s sleeping frame, her dogeared book seemingly forgotten. In present time, Lexa noticed the placard beneath the painting and bit back a smile.

_ “Though nothing is damaged, everything changed.” _

She reached into her pocket with clammy fingers and a swell of nervous breath in her chest. 

Lexa turned her back to the paintings, striding across the room to Clarke. She settled into her girlfriend’s side, waiting for her to finish up her meeting with buyers. It was a man and his wife, both with black hair that was greying at the edges. They looked happy, side by side, with the woman boasting a giant diamond on the left hand laid across her stomach. 

“We’ll be in touch, Ms. Griffin. Thank you for your time.”

“Oh, my pleasure. I gave you my card, correct?”

The older woman nodded, tapping her clutch that her husband so dutifully held. They all shared a smile before the couple disappeared back into the swelling crowd. 

Lexa turned towards Clarke with a brow raised, watching as the girl’s smile grew and grew. She nearly lept into Lexa’s grasp, throwing arms over her shoulders as she stood on her toes. Lexa chuckled into Clarke’s neck and wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling them together in victory. She kissed the nape of Clarke’s neck before pulling away, moving her hands from Clarke’s back to her fingers, entwining them together. 

“What was all that about?” She asked, jutting her chin in the direction of the older couple. 

“They want to buy the entire  _ When Earth Meets the Sky _ series. Lex, that’s over $10,000.” Her cornflower eyes grew wide, the shock etched across her features. Lexa could only smile at her girlfriend’s success, unlocking one of their hands to tuck a blonde hair behind Clarke’s ear. Clarke sighed and closed her eyes at the touch, leaning into Lexa’s palm with a smile. 

“That’s incredible, love,” she murmured, their fingers tangling together again. 

“Thank you. For all of this. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Clarke’s voice was soft in gratitude, her voice like warm honey that dripped over Lexa’s bones. Though the room was loud with chatter and the throbbing streetlife outside, it all became white noise as Clarke crooned her thanks. Lexa smiled and nodded, squeezing Clarke’s hands. 

“You have nothing to thank me for. This was all you. This was something you’ve always wanted and I’ve always believed in you. I knew you were destined to do great things,” she said, her voice so low that only Clarke could hear. “But I have another surprise.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

Lexa smiled softly at her, squeezing her hands once more before releasing them completely. She tucked her right hand into her pocket, fumbling around for the fabric she had become so familiar with. With shaking fingers, she pulled the small box from her pocket, dropping her weight to one knee with her spine straight and her eyes never leaving Clarke’s. Clarke gasped, holding both hands over her mouth with her eyes wide as she followed Lexa’s movement. 

Lexa grinned, leaving the box closed with her hands trembling like an earthquake. 

“Clarke Griffin,” she started, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, “I’ve been in love with you for almost ten years. I’ve loved you as the girl that sat in front of me in intro to psych that always forgot a pencil. I’ve loved you as the girl who spilled coffee all over me the first day we truly met, managing to make me smile even though I was having a bad day.” Clarke laughed as tears spilled down her cheeks, her hands moving from her mouth to catch the streams against her thumbs. 

“I’ve loved you as the girl who kissed me in the rain on our first date. I’ve loved you as the girl who made me carry her bridal-style into our first house. I’ve loved you as the girl who keeps beers in the back of the fridge because she thinks that’s a clever place to hide them from me.” It was Lexa’s turn to laugh, dropping her gaze for a moment to let a tear fall to the floor by her heel. A crowd had formed around them, the cacophony in the room deadening in the moment.

“I’ve loved you as the girl who lost all of her memories. I’ve loved you as the girl who couldn’t recognize my face or my laugh or my voice. And I’ve loved you as the girl who got them all back anyway. I’ve loved you as so many things over so many years, but now I want to love you as my wife. So,” she flipped open the lid to the box, ripping another gasp from Clarke’s throat. “Clarke Griffin, will you make me the happiest woman in the world and marry me?”

Her heart was hammering in her chest. She was convinced the entire city could hear its incessant thumping against her ribcage. Her nerves were tumbling around in her stomach, knotting and twisting and erupting butterflies into her throat. She swallowed hard in waiting, watching the cascade of emotions that washed over Clarke’s face. 

“Yes.”

She could finally breathe. 

“Yes?” She asked, a smile beaming on her face as she stared up at Clarke. 

“Yes, I will marry you. A thousand times yes.” 

Lexa was on her feet in an instant, wrapping her free arm around Clarke’s back as she felt hands tangle in her hair, pulling her in for a heated kiss. 

Their lips moved in time, push and pull, meeting in the center and reluctant to part. They smiled into each other, salt on their tongues, until an uproar of cheering came from beside them. 

They parted hesitantly, looking to see the large crowd of people beside them all clapping erratically with smiles that could light the earth. 

Lexa stepped away from Clarke and took the ring from the box as the artist offered her left hand, shaking as Lexa slipped the diamond on, the band fitting her finger perfectly. Clarke admired it graciously, at a loss for words, before wrapping Lexa up in another heart-stopping kiss that made the world spin. 

It was finally the right time. 

***

White roses sat at every table, lace lining every surface. Tealight candles flickered in the spring breeze. Willows draped themselves above the rows of chairs; a continuous line of white, folding wood with thin backs and thinner legs to balance on in the tall grass. A latticework arch wrapped entirely in strings of verdant ivy was presented boldly at the front, a makeshift stage nailed to its feet. The lake rippled and pulsed in the background. 

People started to arrive, one after the other, with sundresses and vibrant suits. The bar was open, people mingling and cradling wine glasses as they waited for the big event. The lull of their voices washed over the venue, and Lexa was itching with nerves. 

She peaked out the door of the recreation building as Anya fretted around behind her, taking calls with one hand while adjusting Lexa’s tie with the other. She rolled her eyes at her sister’s incorrigible nitpicking, grinning as Anya tornadoed around the room looking for cufflinks. They both breathed a sigh of relief when she finally hung up the phone and silenced it completely. 

Lexa hooked a finger into her collar, pulling the constricting material away from her neck before it cut off all circulation to her head. She was sweltering in her sleek black suit, her palms endlessly sweaty despite how many times she ran her shaking fingers across her slacks. She woke up with her shirt clinging to her skin and her breath shaky with nerves, but this time she wasn’t able to curl into Clarke’s side and fall back into a peaceful slumber. This time she had to face her nerves head on. 

Anya swatted Lexa’s hand away from her collar with a clicking tongue, ignoring her rolling eyes. Her sister moved to her black tie and loosened it a bit, allowing her to breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Are you ready?” Her sister asked, gripping the sides of her shoulders and looking into her eyes. 

Lexa nodded, unable to contain the grin that stretched across her face. Anya pulled her into a hug tight enough to release the nerves jittering in her stomach, allowing a moment of serenity before she faced the altar just outside. 

For a moment, she held her sister in her arms, her fingers tracing the lace design on the back of Anya’s simple lavender dress. With the weight of her guardian angel against her chest and the sun’s warmth gleaming through the windows, she felt like she could conquer the world. 

She pulled back and held Anya at arms length, tears welling in her eyes as she smiled. 

“I love you An,” she murmured, her voice hoarse with emotion. Anya shook her head and looked away to wipe tears from her own eyes. “Thank you for sticking by me and helping me through that year. Thank you for supporting my decisions, even though you thought I was crazy.”

Anya laughed tearfully, her eyes growing redder with every word Lexa spilled into the quiet room. 

“Clarke and I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you. I mean that.”

With one last hug tight enough to mold them together, they walked out of the building and into the waving grass of the park outside. 

Lexa stood beneath the archway with shaking hands clasped tightly in front of her. Everyone was seated, looking at her with smiles on their faces. She felt exposed and vulnerable, her chest swelling with a sudden panic and her throat tightening, even with her tie loosened. She desperately shot a glance towards Anya at her side, holding tight to a bouquet of roses. Anya smiled at her warmly, shooting her a thumbs up and a tip of her chin, allowing a gust of air to finally enter Lexa’s lungs. She breathed out shakily and straightened her spine as the music started to play from the grand piano behind the altar, the gentle melody wafting through the air, mixing with the breeze and the whistles of spring birds nestled in the drooping trees above them. Everyone seated turned in their chairs, twisting their spines to face the building behind them, watching eagerly for the appearance of the main event. Lexa felt her knees shaking, but as she peered out in front of her with green eyes trained towards the building, she felt the air knocked from her lungs once again. 

Clarke walked through the glass doors and stepped into the grass. Her white gown hugged her hips and her shoulders were bared to the spring breeze. Though she didn’t want to wear a veil, she chose to create intricate designs in her golden hair, weaving strands in and out of each other, braided together at the nape of her neck in the shape of a knot. In her hand was a beautiful bouquet of flowers; lilies, white roses, blue hibiscus, and lavender, each with a vibrant green stalk. The flowers were tied together with a silk bow, sitting just above Clarke’s shaking hands. 

As she reached the altar, Lexa’s facade broke. She was unable to hold the tears in any longer, letting them fall over the crest of her lids and drip down her cheeks, sore from her beaming smile. Clarke chuckled breathily, reaching out a hand to gently brush Lexa’s tears away with her thumb. Everything melted away. In that moment, it was just the two of them against the world. 

The officiant stood at their sides with small, black book in her hands. As the music quieted down and the crowd ceased shuffling, she began to read. Though her mouth was moving and words were coming out, Lexa could only hear muffled noise. She felt herself plunged underwater, the only sound coming from the throbbing of her own panicked heart. She held Clarke’s hands in hers, the bouquet passed to Raven who stood dutifully behind Clarke with a warm smile. 

“Relax, love,” Clarke whispered to her, squeezing her hands to ground her. Lexa nodded and took a deep breath, feeling the air fill her lungs. Clarke’s skin against hers, Clarke’s smell surrounding her, it calmed her nerves entirely. 

When the officiant got to the reciting of the vows, Lexa cleared her throat. She looked to Clarke, standing across from her, and felt herself falling into cornflower eyes. 

“Clarke Griffin,” she started with a smile, watching as Clarke’s eyes began to well with tears. “I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t in love with you. It was always you who I was thinking about, always you who made me laugh, always you who made me believe in love. After everything we’ve gone through, stumbling over obstacles and tripping over our feet, it’s still you who I’m in love with. It’s still you who I think about every day. It’s still who who makes me laugh. It’s still you who makes me believe in love. Every day, I thank gods that you’re still here, standing in front of me. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Lexa felt the tears streaming down her cheeks freely, running streaks through her makeup; but she didn’t care. The only thing she cared about was the smile on Clarke’s face, the hand squeezing her own, and the heart beating in time with hers. 

“Lexa Woods,” Clarke murmured, her voice cracking with emotion that tumbled from her lips. “I’m so thankful I ruined your favorite shirt that day in the coffee shop.” 

Lexa laughed, shaking her head and wiping a tear from her cheek before reconnecting their hands. 

“You’re my knight in shining armor. You’re my best friend. You’re my family. You’re my soulmate. Even when you weren’t always there for me, you never stopped fighting for us. After the accident, you never stranded me. You were by my side every step of the way, and I can never thank you enough. I love you more than the moon loves the stars. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

With muttered ‘I do’s’ and tender kisses, cheering friends and standing ovations, Lexa grasped Clarke’s hand in her own, feeling the band wrapped around her finger. She walked back down the aisle with Clarke at her side, her eyes refusing to leave her wife’s for even a moment. 

***

“Clarke? Can you come into the living room please?” 

Lexa called down the hall for her wife, nudging the cardboard box at her feet behind her. She bit her lip with giddiness, trying to hide her glowing smile but quickly failing. 

Clarke came out of her gallery with her hands above her head, tying her hair back into a loose ponytail as she walked down the hallway. Her dark blue pajama pants were littered with coffee stains and strokes of drying paint, her simple gray baseball tee hanging loose around her frame and falling over the crest of her left shoulder. Lexa felt her breath stolen as she looked at her slightly disheveled wife, still convinced she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Though Clarke vehemently disagreed, Lexa never gave up her argument. 

“What’s up, love?”

“I went into town today and I picked up a surprise for you,” Lexa grinned, holding her hands behind her back and straightening her spine. Clarke looked at her with growing skepticism, slowly inching closer to her with tentative steps and curious eyes. 

“What is it?”

Lexa stepped to the side, revealing the box on the floor. The flaps at the top were folded across each other and a few holes were poked into the top. Lexa motioned a hand towards the box with excitement, watching as Clarke looked back and forth between her and the cardboard pushed up against the base of the couch. 

“Open it,” Lexa urged, nodding behind her and stepping farther away, letting Clarke approach at her own pace. 

Clarke smiled lovingly at her, a smile that said: ‘I love you, but you’re crazy’. Craziness be damned, Lexa was almost vibrating with excitement as her wife placed gentle hands on the flaps of the cardboard, slowly pulling them apart and pulling them open. 

Clarke gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth with eyes wide in shock. Lexa smiled knowingly, watching as the artist looked at her and then back at the object in the box. 

Without warning, a body collided with hers, blonde hair smothering her senses, arms wrapped tightly across her shoulders and legs coiled around her waist. Lexa huffed at the sudden exertion, quickly holding Clarke up by the underside of her thighs, smiling into the nape of her neck as honeyed kisses littered across her face. 

There was a tiny yip coming from below them. 

“I can’t believe you bought me a puppy,” Clarke murmured into her neck between kisses. It made Lexa’s stomach twist with excitement and she sighed into a tangled wave of gold. 

With gentle hands, she set Clarke’s feet back on the ground, feeling her wife untangle the arms from around her neck and kneel to the floor, Lexa quick to join her. 

Clarke lifted a ball of yellow fuzz out of the box, both hands tucked underneath his arms. He had warm, chocolate eyes and a black nose, his fur soft and shining under the living room lamp. His little tail was wagging slightly, swishing back and forth with excitement and curiosity as his hind legs dangled beneath him. His ears were perked up, tiny triangles of honeycomb fur nearly the size of his entire head. A soft pink belly was exposed, swollen with breakfast. Clarke brought him to her chest, cradled his body against hers, and planted a loving kiss on his forehead as she gently swayed back and forth on her knees. 

Lexa looked on in awe, her throat filling with unabashed love and admiration for the woman at her side. Seeing Clarke’s motherly nature, her kindness and her warmth, it made Lexa smile and clear her throat to prevent tears rising to her eyes. Clarke looked from the puppy to her at the sound, smiling kindly at her wife. 

“How old is he?” She asked, watching as the puppy held in her arms began to flutter his eyes closed with every scratch behind his ears. 

“Six months. A woman was selling a litter outside the grocery store today. Said she could only take care of the parents, not the puppies, so I told her I could take one.” 

“Why did you pick him?” 

Lexa looked at the two of them, pressed tightly against each other, and smiled at the golden puppy filling her wife’s eyes with shining happiness. 

“He looked at me the way I look at you. He was so interested in me, and when I took him out of the cage he wouldn’t stop wagging his tail and trying to lick my chin.” 

Clarke giggled, stroking down the puppy’s back and flattening his thick fur. 

“What are you going to name him?” Lexa asked, reaching out a hand to take a tiny paw between her fingers, stroking over the soft, black pads on the bottom of each digit, lazily activating his wild tail once again. 

“Fish.”

“Fish? Why fish?”

Clarke smiled at her and then turned her gaze back to the sleeping lion in her arms, gently snoring against her chest. 

“Because when we first moved in together, and I asked you if we could get a pet, you said the only creature you would allow under this roof was a goldfish. I’m only following your rules, love.”

Lexa rolled her eyes and grinned at the memory, leaning forward to press her lips against Clarke’s forehead, sighing against the warmth of her wife as they held their new family member in their arms. 

***

Christmas music crooned from the tiny stereo on the fireplace mantle. The lyrics crackled and popped like an old record player, the antenna stretched out as far as it could go. 

“Babe, I think it’s time to invest in a new stereo,” Clarke huffed, turning the dials in the front with a tongue between her teeth, attempting to get clearer sound. Lexa rolled her eyes from the kitchen, pouring them both a glass of wine with a smile. 

“That’s the radio-”

“That you’ve had since college, yes, dear, I know. But you aren’t nineteen anymore, you can afford a radio that can at least finish a song before cutting out.”

Lexa walked over to her wife with both glasses in her hand, stopping at Clarke’s side with a smirk and a hand outstretched. She watched as Clarke raised her eyebrow at her, an act of defiance that made Lexa’s knees shake. Clarke took the glass from her hand and they sipped in silence, softly swaying to the holiday tunes. 

A ring from the doorbell echoed across the house and Fish came bounding out of the bedroom at full speed, almost colliding his golden head into the door itself. Though his muzzle was parted in cacophonous barking, his tail was wagging mercilessly in excitement; all bark, no bite like Clarke always says. 

They both set their glasses on the mantle, tabling the radio conversation for another day. Lexa wrapped a firm hand around Fish’s navy blue collar, pulling his hefty body away from the door. After three years, he really grew into his skin. He wasn’t the tiny puppy in the box anymore; now, he was a full grown retriever with a thick jungle of fur and the warmest brown eyes Lexa had ever seen. 

“Alright, Fish, c’mon boy. Momma’s gotta answer the door, silly.” Lexa heaved Fish out of the entryway, letting him admire the guests from afar first. 

Lincoln and Octavia strutted through the open door with snow on their shoulders and smiles on their faces. Behind them straggled a tiny, raven-haired girl with a blue dress and a box in her hands. 

“Lincoln! O! You came!” Clarke wrapped both of them in a tight hug, lifting up on her toes to reach Lincoln’s height. The little girl hid behind Octavia’s leg. 

“Ruby, show auntie Clarke what you have,” Octavia urged, stepping closer to Lincoln so the girl tucked behind her leg was exposed. Clarke knelt down on one knee, arms resting across her leg, a smile touching her eyes. 

“Hi Ruby, it’s been a long time,” Clarke cooed in a soft voice, coaxing the child to step out from the protection of her parents. Within seconds, the little girl mirrored Clarke’s smile and lunged into her arms, one hand clutching the box tight. 

Clarke squeezed back, kissing the raven head that laid against her shoulder before pulling back. 

“What do you have there?” 

Ruby fiddled with the bright red bow that decorated the top of the box, her tiny fingers tracing the glittery pattern. 

“A present for Fish,” she said with a toothless grin, holding the box out to Clarke with both hands. Clarke smiled at her niece, taking the box and lifting the lid with a gasp. 

“Fish, I think I have something you’re going to really like,” Clarke said with a lilt in her voice, catering to the curiosity of the rambunctious dog being held back by Lexa’s firm hands. 

Ever so slowly, Lexa released her grip on his collar, watching him closely to make sure his excitement doesn’t trample the five-year-old. He seemed to understand the atmosphere, approaching Clarke with careful steps, sticking his nose in the open box. His tail started wagging furiously, nearly creating a tornado in the living room. With excited bouncing and happy whines, he pulled a brand new tennis ball out of the box and began prancing around with it in his mouth. He dropped the ball, letting it bounce down the hallway, only to chase it at full speed. 

Clarke rose to her feet and went back to Lexa’s side, kissing her cheek as they watched Ruby laugh hysterically at the dog’s antics. 

Lincoln walked into the kitchen, ruffling Ruby’s hair as he approached the marble island. He sat himself on a barstool as Lexa poured him a glass of wine as well. 

“You think you can handle Christmas dinner at your house this year?” He asked with a cunning grin, hoping to get under his sister’s skin. 

Lexa rolled her eyes at him. Though it was usually her brother and sister’s tradition, she wanted to try something new this year. 

She opened the oven door and took a peek at the ham inside, reaching for a thermometer in the drawer beside her to test the meat. As she finished, she snapped the oven door closed and went to the sink to wash her hands, relishing in the warmth that flooded her skin.

Though she was excited for Christmas dinner this year, she was also nervous. This was their first time hosting and she wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, so making dinner for her hypercritical siblings seemed like a daunting task. Nevertheless, she was convinced she could take it on. 

“How has Ruby’s first year of kindergarten been?” She asked Lincoln, drying her hands with a checkered towel before tossing it on the island. 

“It’s been good,” he said wistfully, looking towards his wife and daughter sitting on the floor with Fish on his back between them. Both Ruby and Octavia had matching smiles, bigger than the moon;  _ she takes after her mom _ , Lexa thought to herself. 

“She really likes her teacher. He’s really great with them, too. She is really into reading right now, and O and I are just trying to keep up with her pace. Believe it or not, there are only so many books I can buy from the bookstore before going completely bankrupt,” Lincoln chuckled to himself, taking another sip of wine. Lexa laughed with him, shaking her head. She knew what that was like. 

As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, the doorbell rang again, but instead of waiting for Clarke to answer, Anya just burst through the door. None of them expected any less, but it was still a surprise. 

“If it gets any colder I might turn into a snowman,” Anya grumbled, shaking the snow off her beanie and unraveling the scarf from around her neck. 

Lexa smiled at her sister from the kitchen, watching as both Lincoln and Octavia stood to wrap her in a flood of hugs. 

“And how’s my perfect little niece?” Anya cooed, kneeling down next to Ruby and poking her belly, watching as the girl erupted into a fit of giggles. 

The Christmas music crackled from the stereo on the mantle, fading in and out with the reception. Bells and violins washed over the room as everyone mingled in the warmth of the living room. Lexa poked and prodded at the ham every few minutes, making sure everything was perfect. Anya was swaying to the music, cradling a glass of wine and swiping through her phone. Octavia and Ruby were settled criss-cross in front of the fireplace, dragging dull crayons across every surface of her coloring book. Every puppy and flower was filled with color and Lexa swore she had never seen Octavia’s eyes glow so bright; they were shining with love. 

Lincoln cleared his throat beside her at the island. 

“She looks just like her mom,” he said with a smile, unknowingly reiterating the words tumbling inside Lexa’s head. He folded his elbows across the marble and settled his head onto his arms, watching the scene in the living room as intently as she was. It made her smile, the idea of her brother swooning over the life be had built for himself. 

“Someone wanted to say hello,” came Clarke’s voice from the hallway. Just then, her wife rounded the corner, cradling their son against her hip. His blonde head was nestled in the crook of her neck, his arms wrapped around her and his tiny feet dangling towards the ground on either side. His pajamas were red and striped, but not red enough to match his flaming rose cheeks.  _ He must’ve had a nightmare _ , Lexa thought to herself, shooting a questioning look towards her wife. Clarke nodded her head back, walking him to her in the kitchen. 

“Hello little man,” Lexa cooed, smoothing down his unruly curls and running her chilled hand down his fiery cheek. He audibly sighed further into his mother, and Lexa leaned forward to plant a kiss on Aden’s forehead, followed by a kiss to Clarke’s temple. 

“Let’s go play, okay?” Clarke whispered to their son, taking him into the living room to spend time with the rest of the family. 

Lexa watched as they left her side, feeling a hole that was once ripped in her chest finally suture shut after so many years. 

She stood at the kitchen island, staring out at her family settled happily in the living room. 

Christmas music was still swaying through the shotty speakers, a crackling mess but festive nonetheless. Candles burned on the fireplace mantle, now filled with more and more pictures; almost too many. Next to the picture Clarke pointed out her first night home was a picture of their son being born, Clarke holding him in the hospital with her lips pressed to his nose. The fire in the base of the fireplace crackled and popped, ash and embers floating through the chimney into the winter sky. Snow fell like sugar through the windows, a gentle dusting of holy white. Ruby and Octavia were still settled on the floor, a masterpiece being made through worn-out crayons and crumpled paper. Each stroke of the little artist was created with imagination and love and Lexa watched as Octavia simply swooned over her daughter. 

Clarke was standing by the Christmas tree, Aden hitched around her hip. She was pointing out the ornaments. They were placed strategically and perfectly, Lexa’s inner perfectionist taking over the decorating. It had made Clarke laugh; she had tried to move the ornaments when Lexa’s back was turned just to see her wife’s face glow red. 

Aden’s eyes were shining with color, each christmas light draped through the tree reflecting in his blue eyes; eyes that matched Clarke’s perfectly. He was pointing at each ornament, babbling childish nonsense and jumbled words that could only be created from a combination of sleep deprivation and innocence. Fish was curled up in his bed at their feet, his big brown eyes drooping closed every so often. His feathered tail wagged ever so slightly every time he heard Aden’s voice; his boy was the only thing keeping him awake. Fish had always taken to Aden and had always protected him; even in slumber, he was a guardian. 

Clarke drew her attention away from the tree to look back at Lexa with a smile. 

Her eyes were bright blue, her smile divine, her hair golden in the light. Lexa smiled back at her wife, feeling her heart clench and stutter with a sense of unstoppable love. 

She often thinks to herself what would have happened if Clarke’s story hadn’t continued. Though late at night, with the moonlight seeping through the curtains and the stars flooding the world above them, Lexa realizes that a scenario of such tragic nature would never happen. With Clarke’s hand thrown across her stomach in the early hours of every morning, and with their son giggling happily against his mother’s hip, it became clear that their story would always find a way to continue. 

It was never her story to tell. It was theirs. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who read, commented, bookmarked, and shared. I love you all so much. This was such a fun story to write and I have others in progress as of now. I hope you feel satisfied with the epilogue!  
> Don't forget to leave a kudos and a comment!!!!!  
> follow me on tumblr [here](https://aliciaclarkes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
